


Before and After

by SandfireKat



Category: Deception (TV 2018)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Brotherly Love, Child Abuse, Drama, Family, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Child Solicitation/Enticement (not detailed), Manipulation, Tragedy, Trauma, Underage Drinking, Underage Drug Use, Whump, self-harm mention
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-10
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-01-10 19:31:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 176,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18414425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SandfireKat/pseuds/SandfireKat
Summary: What would you do for someone you love? How far would you go?Maybe you would do something unspeakable for them, just because they asked.Maybe you would suffer willingly, just so they would smile at you.Maybe you would do something horrible, over and over again...just to be able to take care of them.Maybe you would care for them, because you're too scared to lose them.Maybe you would lie for them.Maybe you'd do all that and more. Because you love them.And surely that's a good enough reason?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I had this idea a very long time ago, but I just sat down about a week or so ago to write it out because it very much got away from me, and the ideas kept stacking and were too good to resist, so here I am!  
> I understand this is a heavy story; I put a lot of love into it, and I hope it shows. I'd advise everyone to read the tags carefully (they will be updated every chapter) and base your decision on whether or not to read, off of them. It's not a secret what this story is about, but I'll announce it plainly anyway, just to cover my bases: Sebastian manipulates Cameron when he's very young to sleep with adults after shows for extra money, and it continues for many years. But the story is very much always going to be about Cameron and Jonathan.  
> There will be pay-off for the angst, and a promised happy ending. I don't take sad stories like these lightly and I will handle it all with care and respect; nothing at all will ever be from Cameron's POV. When they're kids, it's only from Jonathan's (and he will very much be the moral compass). In the second half of the story it will cross over, weave into the show's timeline, and it will be from someone else's.  
> I have a LOT planned for this story and I'm very excited to try and pull it off. So I hope other people will like it too! And I hope to hear from you, if you do!
> 
> Also, I rated it as T because of the fact I will never write the graphic parts of this story. If anyone at all wants me to change it to M, I will. But right now, with all I have in mind, I don't think it will be necessary. (Also: Tried to weed out typos but this is like 32 pages long so if I missed a couple I'm sorry and would love for them to be pointed out!! ;D)
> 
> LAST THING (bc this note is way too long I'm sorry): if you have questions, I can answer them, but there are already things happening in this chapter that will not be revealed until later. There's a lot of that in this story. So I cannot promise I can answer them <3

_"You know I wouldn't ask you to do something like this unless it was very important. Right?" Silence met the question. Skeptical, hesitant, unsure…_ scared  _silence. Sebastian's eyes flashed. But he smiled. And it_ was  _a smile. A genuine smile. A kind smile. A smile that was filled with love. A smile that disarmed him. "Cameron." His_ voice  _was just as gentle. Cameron weakened. He wanted to duck away. But he was stuck. He couldn't remember the last time his father had smiled at him like this. Had talked to him like this. "Cameron, what have I always told you?" he murmured._

 _Cameron weakened even more when Sebastian's smile grew, and he reached out to draw through his hair affectionately. "I've always told you you're my_ star. _My number one," he answered for him. "You know why I say that? Because it's true. You_ always  _understand that there are certain things that_ need _to be done, and you_ never _question them. Because you_ know  _that everything I do is for you. Even the difficult things. Even the things I don't want to do." Cameron looked down at his hands; they were wringing together. Sebastian leaned a little closer. "I wouldn't ask you to do this if I didn't think you could, Cameron. And I_ know  _you can. Because you're my star."_

 _Cameron glanced up at him, before he looked away again. Nervously, his eyes flickered around their dressing room. Something felt heavy on his chest. He felt like he couldn't breathe right. Like his throat was too tight, and it_ sounded  _like his throat was too tight when he could only manage to whimper out a small: "Where's Jonathan?" It was barely anything at all. Yet his tone spoke volumes. And if it wasn't his tone that was saying everything, the apprehensive look on his face was making up for the shortcoming._

" _He's back at the room, already," he whispered, still in that overly kind voice. Cameron's shoulders hunched. He slowly began to move to hug himself. "Cameron…" Sebastian's voice grew more solemn now. As did his expression; the weight on Cameron's chest got even heavier when that smile left, too. "Cameron, you know I try and provide as much as I can. All of that comes from shows, doesn't it?" Cameron hesitated, but nodded. Sebastian did, too. "But shows only give you so much…it depends on the location, on the pricing, on the crowd…you can never be_ sure.  _I do my best but…lately it hasn't been enough._

" _We don't have a lot of money, Cam. We're living show to show…and that's not the life I wanted for you." His eyes flashed; he hesitated, before he glanced down at the floor and tilted his head to the side. "I…suppose I could skip meals. I don't mind going hungry, if that means you can eat." Cameron's eyes widened. His face fell, to crowd more with sorrowful desperation. He opened his mouth, but Sebastian was going on. "I would hate for it to get so bad that you two would have to go without meals…if_ Jonathan  _wasn't able to eat." A forlorn sound died in the back of Cameron's throat. And his desperation only grew when he continued. "And heaven_ knows  _what would happen if something were to go wrong…if you get hurt— or if_ Jonathan  _gets hurt…we wouldn't have the money to take him to hospital. I don't know_ what  _we would do if he got sick…we wouldn't even have the money for_ medicine…"

_Cameron was breathing just the tiniest bit faster. His eyes were beginning to prickle, and burn. His mouth hung open for a couple more seconds, as his eyes got shinier. Sebastian waited, this time. Eventually, Cameron got something out. His voice was still so small. Dejected, and worried. And another layer that got Sebastian looking up quickly: a building sense of something close…to resignation. "How…" He stopped short. Looked down and hugged himself even tighter. He was practically curled up in a ball, by this point. "How…much…money would we get?" he practically whispered._

_That smile was back. Cameron wanted to look at it— he wanted to see it again. He saw it so rarely. But at the same time he didn't. He kept his eyes down, but he heard how ecstatic his father sounded, and he winced a little when he felt his hands go affectionately to his shoulders. "We would get_ more  _than enough, Cameron," he was quick to reassure. "We would get more than enough money for food, and even money we can save away for a rainy day! We haven't been able to_ save  _in so long._ You  _could be the reason we'd_ finally _be able to. You could_ save us, _doing this, Cameron." His expression got even softer when he added in a lighter, hushed voice: "You could even get Jonathan that new book he's been wanting."_

 _Cameron's face began to crowd in a horrible kind of torn thought. He saw the way his dad was smiling at him, now. He thought of the beam Jonathan would get on his face, if he came back with a surprise present. He thought of what might happen if he said no…he thought of his brother getting sick or getting hurt during a show, and them not being able to help him. He thought of Jonathan getting so sick he couldn't practice or perform, or even worse, he would die, and_ then  _who would Cameron have? He would have lost his brother, his_ best friend _, and he_ knew  _he would have disappointed his father, and he never wanted to do that. 'But…but…' His vision blurred even more. His lower lip began to betray him; it trembled ever so slightly, before he took in a faster breath and whimpered: "How long do I have to stay there?"_

" _Only for the night, Cameron. One little night. It's already almost eleven now— that's barely anything," Sebastian reassured. Cameron started to try and do the math in his head. He wasn't as good with numbers as Johnny was. "And I'll be there to get you_ first thing _in the morning. I_ promise _. And then you're done, and you can come home. All you'll have to do is spend the night somewhere else." He leaned down so he could catch Cameron's eye. "You just have to go there…and_ behave _, like you always do. And not give away the secret. That's all. Those things are_ easy  _for you, Cameron. That's all it is. Easy money."_

" _Yeah, but…" Cameron could see the faint shadow of impatience in the back of his father's expression. He wilted even more, and his voice grew even more strained. "But I've…I've never— spent a night…away from Jonathan…and…and I don't want to…" His eyes teared even more. His lower lip shook much harder when he whimpered out: "I don't think I want to…"_

_Sebastian was silent for quite some time, his expression unreadable. Cameron was practically clinging to himself, by this point. It was difficult to breathe. He sniffed. Sebastian seemed to think something over. Before he shook his head. "I understand," he said, finally. But Cameron was immediately beginning to crumble, at the sheer amount of disappointment in his words. It snatched away what little breath he had left. "That's okay, if you don't want to do it, Cameron. I just thought…you might be old enough to understand. But it's alright. We can go without food, sometimes." Another whine died in Cameron's chest. "This was the best way to get more money…and to get quite a lot of it…but I won't force you to do anything you don't want to. I'll find another way to get…at least a little."_

_He began to stand up and draw away from him. Before… "W-Wait!" His eyes flashed. He turned back to Cameron, very slowly. He was looking at him anxiously, the fear in his blue eyes more than apparent, now. His syllables shook, when he spoke next. But he got it out, at least. "Just…just this one time…" he breathed. Sebastian began to smile. Apparently, that did enough for Cameron, to encourage him on. "I only have to do it…this one time…right?"_

" _Of course, Cameron." Sebastian went back to kneel in front of him again. He was beaming, once more. This time, Cameron was hanging onto the smile. Like it was a lifeline. "Just this once._ Just  _to get more money…to get us out of the hole we're in right now." Cameron was still trying his best not to cry. Sebastian raised his eyebrows and prompted: "Will you do it, Cameron? For me? For Jonathan?" He was silent for ages. Before, his lower lip trembling again, he gave a tiny series of nods. Barely even twitching his head, but the slight movement was paying off immediately._

 _His father beamed. Cameron wasn't sure he'd_ ever  _seen him this happy, before. He smiled, and brushed his son's bangs to the side, looking at him with rare, open affection as he claimed: "I_ knew  _I could count on you." The fondness in each word got Cameron to smile just a little bit. Got the panic resting on his chest to warm and melt, if only slightly. "I_ knew  _you were brave enough. I knew you were my star." And then, without warning, his father leaned out…and hugged him. He wrapped his arms around him and drew him close to his chest, in a hug that was rib-crushing, but comforting. Cameron was shocked— their father hardly ever hugged them. Maybe when they performed well. But never just out of the blue, like this._

 _And even rarer, did he do what he did now. Lean back just enough to plant a tiny kiss on his head and murmur: "I love you." The three words may as well have been punches to the gut, for all Cameron reacted. His eyes widened, and his stomach tightened and flipped, not knowing what to do with this sudden rush of sentiment. His eyesight blurred even more, but for now, Cameron's fear was gone, to be replaced with a huge beam that stretched from ear to ear. He was too caught up in having his father hug him, having him tell him he knew he could count on him, having him tell him he_ loved  _him._

_In that instant, he forgot everything else. Everything else wasn't as important._

_Cameron just smiled. And hugged him back as tightly as he could. Feeling loved. And needed._

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Jonathan sat on the edge of his bed. He hadn't laid down all night. He'd started out scowling…like he always did. Sitting on the very edge of the mattress and glaring hard out the window, as though he was blaming  _it_ for all his problems. He'd started out scowling, but now,  _hours_  later, there was just the tiniest hint of that anger left; it was nothing more than a shadow in the farthest back reaches of his expression. Mostly, he seemed apathetic, though he was quite the opposite. The fact was, he was just too tired to show it anymore. He'd sat up all night. Now, the sun was coming up, making the room a light gray instead of the pitch black it had been. He still just kept staring out the window, hardly even blinking.

Like he always did.

He was keeping an ear out, listening for any noise. The tiniest creak of a floorboard, even, would get him whirling around. He had no idea what time it was, but he knew that when the sun started to get up a little like this, that was usually when he came back. Unless Sebastian 'forgot.' Then it took longer. He was hoping it wouldn't be the case. So the very second he heard the tiniest of things from downstairs, he was jerking up, snapping out of the reverie that had been shrouding him. It was just a little noise. But it sounded like the door. So he was immediately jumping to his feet.

He wanted to run out there and meet them. But he knew not to. He leaned forward a little, like he was tempted to dash out. But he managed to get himself to stop. His throat and his chest burned as he just resigned himself to waiting. His scowl was back now, with a vengeance. But he just locked his jaw back and waited, listening and stiffening when he heard footsteps start up the stairs. When the knob began to twist, Jonathan rounded his bed to go towards the door. He slowed when it opened, a little caught off-guard. He'd expected them both to be there, but there was only one. Only Cameron.

The anger he felt towards Sebastian for not even having the decency to help him back upstairs winded him for a second, but it was gone the second he took in his brother's state. His eyes widened, his shoulders went slack. He lost about two inches of height, when he saw his twin. He was pale, and shaky. He looked sick. His hair was messed up. When he saw Jonathan, he offered a tiny smile, but it was too weak and far-away. He was holding onto the doorway; the second he started to let go so he could walk, he started to stumble, like his knees were refusing to support him.

Jonathan rushed to catch him before he could fall. He put his arms underneath his, grimacing a little as Cameron immediately took the offer and went absolutely limp, trusting Jonathan to hold him up because he couldn't anymore. He wasted no time before he shifted enough to prop him up with his shoulder. Cameron flinched when Jonathan wrapped an arm around him. Jonathan was glaring out into the hallway, to where the steps were, towards downstairs where he knew Sebastian had stayed. Pure loathing flooded over his face. He reached out with his other arm to grab the door and slam it closed as hard as he possibly could. It practically shook the entire house.

He glowered at the door for a few more moments, before he was looking back at Cameron and it was all washed away. He moved to hold him more securely, with his other arm, too. His brother's head was against his shoulder, and his eyes were closed; he looked half asleep. "C'mon, Cam…" His words were just as heavy as his expression was. Cameron didn't say or do anything. When Jonathan turned, he basically had to carry him. He helped when he could, but whatever help he  _did_ offer didn't go all that far. Jonathan just breathed deep and took him over to his bed. It took a while to get there but once he carefully lowered him down, Cameron sank into the mattress gratefully. An exhausted sigh escaped him. His eyes stayed closed.

Jonathan hesitated. Unbearable pain and sorrow was squeezing around his throat. He couldn't even swallow. He closed his eyes, too. Felt them burn even more. For a moment, he just let everything overwhelm him. He usually did, right about now. This was all a cycle. A habit. A procedure. At  _some_  point during it, he always almost broke down.  _Almost._ But he always caught himself, like he did this time, too. He opened his eyes with another deep breath. He just tried to focus on the rest of the procedure. Starting by fixing his hair. His hair was always messed up…

Gently, he began to smooth it out, and brush his bangs back to where they usually were. Cameron didn't even twitch. He looked fast asleep. Jonathan knew he wasn't. So he started going through the list of questions he always asked. Starting from the top. When he spoke, he lowered his voice, to try and hide the fact it was so close to breaking like glass. "Did you get any sleep?" he whispered. Cameron didn't react at first. But after about five seconds, he gave the tiniest shift of his head. Which Jonathan guessed was a 'no.' That was usually the answer. "Do you hurt?" he breathed. The pause was longer this time, but again, Cameron twitched his head. Jonathan didn't believe him. But he knew there was no use in pressing. He just moved onto question three. "Do you wanna take a shower?"

He remembered one of the  _first_  times. How Cameron had been panicking and hyperventilating, hugging himself and rocking so hard that he kept hitting the back of his head against the wall, but all he could say was: "I need to take a shower!" over and over and over again. He'd been sobbing and choking, then. Not half-asleep like he was now. So he wasn't surprised when he got yet another shake. Jonathan knew he would later. "Do you want under the covers?" he kept on. Cameron nodded, still looking like he was already unconscious. Jonathan swallowed all his pain when he stood up and started to wriggle the comforter out from under him.

It was a little awkward, because Cameron wasn't awake enough to really help. It'd be easier if he could just stand. But he could work around him. He shifted him enough to get the blankets out. He took off his shoes and tucked the blanket up to his chin. He leaned over and fixed the pillow under his head, so it was more comfortable. From there, he just sat again and looked at him sadly. He hesitated, before he went back to brushing through his hair again. Just because he felt like he wasn't helping. "Do you need anything?" he pressed. "…water?" He felt like a broken record. He said this  _every_ time.

Again, Cameron shook his head.

Jonathan nodded his own. Paused even longer, before he whispered: "Do you want me to stay?"

His brother nodded groggily. That was usually the answer, too.

He sighed. He stood up, went to the other side of the bed, and laid down. He got on his side and shifted a little closer. He thought he saw him smile a little bit. Jonathan's heart was heavy when he reached out and moved Cameron's arms for him. Shifting them so that one was on the mattress between them, and the other went across his side. He did the same with his own arm, and pulled him close. Not even thinking about it, he started to rub his back. He felt him sigh against his neck. "I couldn't sleep either," Jonathan murmured. "You can go to sleep, now, though…I'm right here. I've got you…"

For a second, he thought he fell asleep. He was relieved. He knew he needed it.

When without warning, Cameron was whispering. "Three…"

Jonathan perked. He blinked a couple times, before he looked down at him. "What?"

He  _was_ smiling. It was more apparent, now. And he elaborated, a little stronger: "Three." Jonathan's face fell. Cameron didn't see. But when the silence just stretched on, he explained. Even though Jonathan didn't really need him to. "Three thousand…this one was three thousand dollars."

Jonathan just stared at him.

" _No!_ No!  _No, this is_ bad,  _this is_ bad,  _Cameron!" Jonathan yelled. Cameron cringed, ducking his head. He wasn't saying anything; he was just stiffening and curling in on himself like he was a frightened turtle. "This isn't right, this isn't okay, it's_ not okay,  _Cameron! Don't_ tell me it's okay, stop telling me it's okay!  _You're not something— you're not for_ sale,  _this isn't supposed to happen!_ Ever!"  _He turned away from him, shaking his head. "We're telling someone." Cameron's head snapped up. "I'm telling someone— I don't know_ who  _I'm going to— I have to."_

" _Don't tell!" He was up on his feet, with this plead. Jonathan whirled around, smacked across the face with shock. Tears were building fast in his brother's eyes. They'd be streaming down his face in less than five seconds. "Don't tell; you can't tell, Johnny! Please don't tell!" Jonathan began to glare at him. "Dad asked me to, I don't want to disappoint Dad! It wasn't bad, it wasn't— and— and we need the money!"_

"This isn't magic, Cameron!"  _Jonathan was screaming. Cameron cowered away, but right now, he didn't care. "This isn't magic, this isn't what we said we were going to do! This isn't what we wanted!"_

" _I_ did,  _though," he whimpered. "I_ did _want to do it, I—"_

" _No you_ didn't!"  _he snapped. "No you_ didn't  _Cameron, you_ didn't!  _I know you didn't, don't you_ dare  _say that! Don't lie! He_ made  _you do this! He_ made you,  _Cameron!" Cameron's shoulders started shaking with repressed sobs. "I'm gonna find a grown-up," Jonathan went on furiously, ignoring Cameron's choke. "I'm going to find a_ good  _grown-up— someone that can help us, and we're getting out of this! You're not doing this again! I'm not going to let you!"_

" _W-What if you get sick!? Or hurt— how will we pay for—?"_

" _Don't blame me for this!" Jonathan yelled immediately. Cameron started to cry more. "Dad has enough money, he's lying to you! He's_ lying!  _Just to get you to do this! And even if we_ didn't,  _you_ still  _shouldn't do it! Not for me, not for anyone! Do_ not  _blame me for this, Cameron, I don't_ want you to do this!"

" _I'm not blaming you, I—"_

" _You've done it_ three times  _now!_ Three!  _You shouldn't have even done it the once, but he told you that would be the only time anyway! So why don't you get that he's_ lying to you!?  _He started_ out  _lying to you, and he still is! How long are you going to let him keep lying to you!? How long are you going to let him keep hurting you!?" Cameron started to open his mouth so he kept yelling, before he could get anything out. "And_ don't  _say he hasn't! I don't want to hear it! I don't want_ any of this,  _and I know you don't, either! I know you don't, so just_ admit it to me!  _You can't lie to me! You_ can't _, Cameron!"_

_Cameron sniffled. He was trying to wipe his eyes and get himself to stop crying. His voice was just a croak when he started to try: "I…I don't…I want to make everyone happy—"_

"Do I look happy, Cameron!?"  _Jonathan screamed. Cameron flinched. "How can I be happy!? When I don't know where you go after shows!? When I realize that I should have stayed by you and spend all night blaming myself because I wasn't there to say no, because you can't! Scared you won't come back in the morning, scared I won't ever see you again and I didn't even get to say goodbye! I love you, Cameron, how can I be happy with this?!_

" _I'm telling you I don't want you to do this! I'm telling you that! I don't want gifts!" He whirled around and grabbed the book Cameron had given him about a month ago off his bedside table. He'd been happy, when Cameron had given it to him. He'd smiled and hugged him, and said thank you. It wasn't until a couple weeks later that he realized_ how  _he had gotten the money for the book. Now he hated it. He grabbed it and spun back around to glare at him. "I don't want your_ stupid book!"  _Cameron flinched when Jonathan turned and threw it as hard as he could against the wall. "I don't want_ anything!  _Except for you to_ stop!"

" _I— I…I_ can't  _stop, Johnny, I—"_

" _Don't call me Johnny!" Cameron screwed his eyes shut and ducked his head. "Don't 'Johnny' me, don't! Cameron! Look at me!" He didn't. Jonathan wished he had another book to throw._ "I said look at me, Cameron!"  _He forced himself to. His lips were shaking. Jonathan raised his voice, and enunciated every syllable carefully. "We are_ nine!" _He gestured between the two of them. "We are_ nine years old! You  _are nine years old! Do you_ know  _what we're supposed to be doing right now!? We're supposed to be going to school! We're supposed to be playing, we're supposed to be…watching movies and eating ice cream and having fun— do you know what we're_ not  _supposed to be doing when we're_ nine years old, Cameron!?"

_Cameron hesitated, before he started to whisper: "We're going to be ten, in—"_

"Shut up!"  _Jonathan shouted. Cameron hid his face in his hands. "It's_ wrong!  _And I'm telling someone!" Cameron looked back up again. He was begging Jonathan not to with his eyes, shaking his head fast. Jonathan wasn't listening. "I'm telling someone and they're going to do something about it! No more! I am your older brother—"_

" _We're the same_ age,  _we're_ twins,  _you're not—"_

" _I was born first!" Jonathan snapped. Cameron looked away in frustration and desperation. "I was born first, that makes me the older brother; that makes you my baby brother, and_ my  _responsibility! I'm supposed to take care of you! I'm supposed to protect you! And I haven't been doing my job!" He shook his head again. "I'm gonna find an adult – a_ good  _one – and they're gonna help us, and in the meantime you have to stay by me_ all  _the time, you can't leave me for a single second, and I promise I'll find a way to—"_

" _Jonathan, I_ want  _to—"_

" _No, you don't want to! You_ don't! _If you wanted this, why are you crying!?"_

" _Because you're yelling at me!" This shout got Jonathan to shut up. He jerked back; his eyes widened. The shout had come out in a broken sob. Thick and heartbreaking, and suddenly so upset. Cameron was back to hiding his face; this time he didn't look up. Jonathan's mouth ran dry when Cameron couldn't hold back his crying anymore, and started sobbing. "I'm crying because you're yelling at me, and you're mad at me!" he cried. Jonathan started to deflate. The anger was slowly melting off his face. "I'm just trying to help! I'm just trying to help Dad and you, and I'm— just trying my best and you're yelling at me!"_

 _Jonathan couldn't say a single word. "Dad's never been this happy before, he's never been this nice to me before, or nice to you before, and it's because I'm doing this and I don't want it to stop, I don't want him to get mad and disappointed! I just— I just want to protect you too because you're always doing stuff for me, and— and I don't want any of us to go hungry! Dad says this is easy money and it_ is,  _and it's always a sure thing and we get so_ much _and he's just been happier and I don't want that to go away and I don't want_ you  _to go away, I don't want you to die because we don't have money for medicine!_

" _We can be happy this way, we can all be happier— Dad hasn't yelled at you in a long time, and you can buy books you want, and— and—" He dropped his arms but kept his head down. "I don't know how_ I'll _be happy but I'll find a way, I know I will!" he sobbed. "It's just so easy and it gives so much and Dad's so happy and he tells me loves me— he tells me he_ loves  _me now, and I wanna always hear that he loves me, I want to do this, and I'm happy, I promise, I'm just crying because you're yelling!" He closed his eyes and started sobbing harder. His words were just broken fragments. "I'm crying because you're yelling and I'm tired and I don't feel good and you're confusing me but mostly I'm crying because you're yelling!"_

 _Jonathan stayed silent, even when Cameron couldn't go on any longer. His sobbing was much too loud. It filled up the entire room. It hurt his heart to hear. It took away all his anger…all his_ air.  _He hesitated, before he walked over to him. Before he put a hand on his shoulder and brought him in for a hug. Cameron didn't return it, but he just held him anyway. Taking a second to put his head down on his brother's shoulder and try to get him to stop crying, if only for a little bit. It started to work. Until, being much gentler this time, Jonathan murmured: "Cam…we have to tell someone. We have to get help."_

 _Cameron didn't react at first. He just sniffed hard. But then he ducked out of Jonathan's arms. He let him, and looked at him sadly as Cameron suddenly shot him a glare. "You can't tell," he said thickly. Jonathan's forehead began to crease and he started to argue. He cut him off. "You can't tell, Jonathan. This is a good thing. It's_ good.  _It gets money. And it makes Dad happy. So you can't tell anyone. I_ trust  _you. That's why I told you." Jonathan's eyes rounded out at the unfairness of the statement. "I trust you— you can't tell anyone. You tell someone_ anything,  _and it's not just this that gets ruined. It's the whole thing. People will find out about you. We're not going to be able to perform anymore."_

" _Cameron…Cameron, I'm not going to_ sit by,  _and…and watch you—!"_

" _You_ can't  _tell!" He glared at him through a sheen of tears. "Jonathan, if you tell anyone, you won't be my twin anymore. You won't be my brother anymore, if you tell!" Jonathan went silent. Cameron wasn't backing down. "If you tell, Jonathan, you won't be my brother. You have to_ swear  _to me you won't. You have to_ twin swear _to me won't tell."_

 _Jonathan was grasping at anything to say. His voice was weaker when he attempted: "Cameron…that's not— that's not fair, that's not a_ thing,  _it's—"_

" _Twin swear to me!" Cameron yelled. It was Jonathan's turn to flinch. "Twin swear you won't tell!"_

" _I…" Frustration was making his eyes prickle too, by now. "Cameron, you're not— I can't…"_

" _Do it! Twin swear, or you won't be my brother anymore!"_

_His eyes teared faster. He pressed in growing desperation: "I just want to help, I—"_

"Twin swear!"

 _Horrible silence. Cameron was still crying, but there wasn't a single shred of doubt to see in his expression. Jonathan wanted to cry, too, he wanted to find Sebastian and punch him, even if he knew he wouldn't inflict any damage at all. He wanted to grab Cameron and shake sense into him,_ scream  _sense into him. But he couldn't. He just looked at him hopelessly. And helplessly. And started crying more because he didn't see a way out of this if Cameron refused. He was trying to drag him out, but his brother was digging in his heels and fighting him…and they were evenly matched._

_He didn't know what to do. Other than croak out a weak: "Okay…"_

Jonathan surveyed his brother sadly. At his tiny smile, that was barely there simply because he was so tired. At his hair that was still messy and his clothes, still the same as what he had been wearing the night before. There was an unbearable pain in his chest. Something he could barely breathe around. He remembered his brother's glower…the sheer certainty in his eyes when he'd told Jonathan that if he told anyone about any of this then they were through. Then they wouldn't be twins…or even brothers. When that was all Jonathan knew how to be…Cameron's brother.

He sighed, and shook his head. Moved so he could fix the blankets and tuck him in more. "I don't care about how much money you got, Cam…" When he fixed his brother's hair for the last time, he just settled back down against him with yet another heavy exhale. He hugged him and closed his eyes, because it was easier to ignore everything when it wasn't staring you in the face. "I just care that you're safe."

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

"They're all different." Jonathan glanced over his shoulder. Cameron was at the table, trying to make a card tower. He'd been at it for about an hour now; it was shaping up to be quite the monument. He was having to stand on the chair at this point just to keep building. He was very intent with his task; he didn't look over at his twin. But as he narrowed his eyes and started to place yet another pair of cards, he kept murmuring, keeping his voice low, like he was worried talking too loud would cause the whole thing to fall. "I mean… _everyone_  is different—  _people_ are different. But…I just mean  _they're_ different, too."

Jonathan's expression got a little harder. He turned back, to keep doing the dishes. When he set a freshly-cleaned plate down on the counter, he did so with a harsh slam. He was surprised it didn't shatter. "I don't care, Cameron," he said, very curtly. This got Cameron to look over at him. He was frowning, but Jonathan's back was to him. He was scowling as he grabbed another plate and started to scrub it with a lot more force than was actually necessary. For a long couple of minutes, there was complete silence. Before Jonathan muttered, mostly to himself: "They  _are_ all the same..."

He didn't mean for Cameron to hear. Because he didn't want this conversation to continue. But Cameron  _did_. "They  _aren't,_ though." Jonathan scowled, sticking his tongue hard into his cheek when he slammed yet another plate onto the counter. "They're all different. They made me realize… _everyone's_  different. Every single person." His voice was nothing but earnest. Sincere. It infuriated him. "Some of them are so nice. Some of them… are  _less_ nice." Jonathan stopped moving altogether. He just stood there and scowled. He was so angry, his vision was starting to go red. His hands balled into fists, at his sides.

Cameron didn't realize. He kept going. "Some of them want to talk…some of them want to talk a  _lot._ Others…don't want to talk at all." He was saying all of this simply…like it wasn't even important, like he wasn't paying attention. Sure enough, he was looking at his card tower again, and setting down the other cards. Smiling when they stood. "Some are happy…seem really… _really_ sad. Like…they don't know what to do. Like they're waiting for someone to help them. Some say  _I_ help them. I never know what to say to those ones. I'm still trying to figure it out…"

Jonathan turned. He was stiff— literally biting down on his own teeth to keep everything back. Cameron was still too focused on the card tower. He was using more caution now, when he placed two more. "But…I was just thinking about it the other night, I was just…you don't have time to think about that kind of stuff usually, but  _I_ had the time then, and it just kinda hit me."

He picked up another two. "You don't really think about it, but… _every single person_ in the  _entire world…_ is  _different."_ The smile was staying on his face. "And there's like…what— seven  _billion_ people? And every single person is completely different? Seven billion people and there's not a  _single_  person that's like another one. It's  _crazy._ And…" He surveyed his card tower, which was more like a card  _castle,_ now. "I don't know," he sighed. "I just think it's interesting. And…you know, it's… _nice._  It's nice…to know that everyone is different," he murmured. "Even them…they're all different."

Jonathan said nothing, seething in silence. Cameron was focusing on his tower. Jonathan's eyes flickered from it, to him. They narrowed even more. He waited, just in case he wasn't done. But he was; Jonathan was glad, because he couldn't stomach anymore, he was so angry. For a heartbeat, he couldn't think at all. Even when he moved, he wasn't sure whether or not he was thinking. He didn't know if he was using his head when he walked over to the table and came to a stop beside his brother. When he met Cameron's smile with a stony glare. When he lashed out without any sort of warning, and smacked his hand through the base of the pyramid, knocking out the foundation and making the entire thing collapse.

Cameron's face fell right along with it. His eyes widened and his smile vanished. He looked dumbly at the cards, now just a huge pile. Then back to Jonathan; the sad look that was on his face now just worked to make him angrier. "I said, I don't  _care,"_ he repeated, through his still-clenched teeth. Cameron's eyes started to go shinier. It was so easy now, for him to start crying. Jonathan didn't care though; he wasn't thinking. He wasn't thinking when he knocked over the card tower, and he wasn't thinking now when he just scowled at his tearful brother and spat: "Because they're all. The.  _Same._ They're all  _disgusting."_

Cameron was starting to bite down on his lower lip, to keep it from shaking. Jonathan knew his tricks. And right now, he was tired of seeing them. So, without saying another word, he shoved himself away from the table and stalked out of the room. There were still dishes left, but he didn't care. He just stomped for the steps, leaving Cameron alone in the kitchen. Still standing on top of his chair. Now, just turning and staring down tearfully at his tower which had been reduced to a mess.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

"I'm sorry, Cameron…" His voice was choked with tears that he was trying to keep at bay for as long as he could. Cameron just kept sniffling and crying; Jonathan might as well have just not said anything. He swallowed hard and scooted a little closer to him. He grabbed him gently by the shoulders and scooted him into what was hopefully a little more comfortable a position. Once he did, he put his hand down on his forehead. His heart lodged hard in his throat when he felt how hot he was. He was warmer than he'd been a couple hours ago. He was getting worse.

Cameron kept crying. Trying anything he could to help, Jonathan started to draw his fingers through his hair, slowly, and gently. "You're okay…" he murmured. Cameron sniffed and curled tighter, with a pitiful flinch. "You're alright, Cameron, I'm right here…let me take your temperature again." Cameron whined underneath his breath. Jonathan ignored it. "C'mon, Cam," he breathed, just grabbing it again and bringing it up to his face. To his relief, Cameron was compliant, and opened his mouth just a little bit. He put it under his tongue and waited, strained as he looked over him for about the millionth time. He took the thermometer back again, and his stomach dropped when he realized the fever was up to 101.5. Earlier it had just been 100.7. "I can…" Jonathan looked around the room, looking a little overwhelmed. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Before he turned back, smiled weakly, and offered: "I can get you a washcloth. A cold one— to put on your forehead. That'll help."

He started to stand, when Cameron croaked out a tiny objection. "Wait…but…" Jonathan's face fell. He sat back down and leaned closer, to hear. Cameron grimaced and mumbled after a moment: "I wan' you to stay…with me…"

Pain tore his chest. He had to swallow hard, before he could reply. "Cam, I'll be  _right_ back," he swore. "Not even a minute— I won't even take a minute." Cameron still seemed distressed. But Jonathan just went fast, trying not to listen just in case he tried to call him back again. He rushed to the bathroom and dug a washcloth out of the cabinet. He got the water as cold as he could, and ran it over the cloth, wringing it out to make sure it wouldn't drip all over the place. And he immediately spun around and rushed back to their room just as quickly as he'd rushed. Hurrying back to Cameron's side and murmuring comforts as he folded the washcloth and laid it gently across his forehead.

Cameron let out a shaking sigh at the cold touch. Jonathan felt a wave of relief when he saw his brother begin to relax. He'd started not feeling good the evening before…he hadn't touched his dinner at all, saying he felt too sick to. Jonathan had hoped it would go away. But he'd been startled awake at two in the morning hearing Cameron vomiting into the trash can. From there it had only gotten worse. He was hot and sweaty, but he was shivering like he was freezing.

"Do you feel any better?" he murmured. Cameron shook his head groggily. The misery on his face spoke enough volumes. "Do you want to try and eat something?" All he got was yet another shake. "Cameron, you haven't had anything all day," he pointed out weakly. "You didn't eat last night. And you've gotten sick so much. You should have something. Something  _tiny,_ even,like some crackers, or—" He broke off, his eyes widening. Cameron was going stiffer, and his eyes opened only to widen out with something close to panic. He started to try and move. Jonathan got the message.

He leaned over and grabbed him by the shoulders again, to sit him up. He brought the trash can up onto the bed and got it underneath his mouth the second before he started to throw up. Jonathan's heart twisted at all his chokes and sobs. He had no idea how he still had anything left to give. He held the trash can and rubbed his back, to soothe him through it. He started to maybe offer him some verbal comforts as well, when his eyes got caught on something else. Immediately, pure hatred flooded his face.

Sebastian was standing in the doorway, watching the two of them. Watching Cameron getting violently ill, and Jonathan trying to help him as best he can. There was no expression on his face. There was nothing but open rage, on Jonathan's. "He  _needs_  to go to the  _hospital_ ," he snarled. Cameron stayed hunched over, choking, like he still had something left to get up. "You need to take him to a hospital," Jonathan snapped, when their father did nothing.  _"You_ did this to him, so  _you_ fix him."

Sebastian's eyes narrowed just the tiniest bit, at his tone. "It's likely to just be a sickness," his father started to say. Jonathan ground his teeth together. "If we just give him more time—"

" _Take him to the hospital, Sebastian!"_ Jonathan shouted.  _This,_ his father glowered at. But Jonathan didn't care. He just looked back down at his brother, brushing his hair out of his face and trying not to notice how damp it was. Cameron had stopped getting sick, but he hadn't been able to pick his head back up. He was laying his head on the edge of the can, just breathing unsteadily in and out. Jonathan saw him reach up to wipe his eyes. He shifted to hug him more comfortingly. He looked reproachfully at their dad, putting his head on top of Cameron's. "Take him to the hospital," he repeated. "Get him help."

"You shouldn't be touching him," Sebastian replied coldly. "You could easily get just as sick and then—" Jonathan's glare got sharper; he made a point to hug Cameron even tighter. Sebastian's eyes flashed with irritation and anger at the display. He looked between the two of them, silent as he thought. He locked his jaw back. Jonathan's eyes flickered down to his wrist. He scowled even more when he noticed the new watch he was wearing. He'd bought a new  _watch._ And the reason he had the money to waste on such a  _stupid thing,_ was currently vomiting for the seventh time today. And he was  _hesitating_ over what to do.

"Fine." Jonathan's eyes widened with a bit of surprise. But relief started to thaw the tension that had been locking over his shoulders when their father started towards the bed. "Let's go, Cameron," he said, Cameron forcing his head back up with a disoriented little mumble. Jonathan put the trash can back on the floor for now. He watched with unease as Sebastian grabbed Cameron's wrist and started to urge him gently to his feet. Jonathan was relieved, that he was being gentle. That he was being kind, for him. Cameron was sick and shaking, and he could hardly stand…if he was being nicer to him, it would make it easier. "We'll take you somewhere," Sebastian promised.

The words made his heart fall. Jonathan stood up quickly. "To the hospital," he pressed. Sebastian did a double-take, looking over at his other son with a confused and irritable look. Jonathan was just looking at Cameron anxiously. "You're taking him to the hospital, nowhere else, right?" he prompted. The thought of him taking him anywhere else when he was like this was absolutely sickening. Even  _more_ sickening than it usually was, which didn't even seem possible, before now. "To the hospital and then right back?" He wanted  _nothing_ more than to go with them and make sure that was all they were doing. But he couldn't.

It was like Sebastian read his mind. All he did was toss him a stiff: "Stay here."

Jonathan wilted. But he caught Cameron's eye. His brother looked at him, and when he did, Jonathan forced himself to smile. It was weak, but it was there all the same. "I'll see you again soon, Cam," he murmured. Cameron smiled back. It was just a fragile. "I'll see you again…when you're feeling a lot better." Jonathan kept the smile until they both turned their backs on him and started out the door. Then he let it drop. He let sadness and hopelessness crawl over his face. He felt useless now, just standing in their room. He listened to their footsteps and the sound of the door slamming. He still just stood there, staring.

He wondered how it would work. What their dad would say. How would he explain how Cameron got so sick? Would the doctors be able to tell? Would they guess, would they ask? Suddenly hope was starting to foster itself in his chest, burning brighter little by little the longer he contemplated. Cameron had snapped at him that he wasn't allowed to tell anyone. But what if  _they_ found out all on their own? What if they put a stop to it, and Jonathan didn't even have to worry about finding a way out? Maybe this would be all it took!

Maybe. Maybe, maybe. For now, he just started to deal with the aftermath. He started with the trash can— going to flush the vomit down the toilet and clean it out and make sure there was nothing left. He took the thermometer back to the bathroom and threw away the cover that went over it. He went back to their room and he made Cameron's bed. He felt like doing more. But after that, it was pretty much done. All there was left to do was sit and stare and wait. Which was what he was doing most of his life, now, it felt like. He sat and he waited, and he watched it grow darker and darker.

They didn't come back until around ten the next day. At some point Jonathan had fallen asleep, curled up at the foot of Cameron's bed. The sound of the door downstairs got him to sit up. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and tried to shake the fog out of his head. This time, he didn't wait for them. He shot up to his feet and rushed out the door, taking the steps two at a time. The relief he felt was unimaginable when he got downstairs and saw Cameron, and realized he didn't look any worse. When he could tell for a fact that Sebastian had actually taken him where he was supposed to.

He looked a lot less pale. There was a healthy color back on his face, and when he looked up and saw Jonathan, there was so much more life to his smile. It actually looked like his own. He wasn't shaking anymore, and he was stable on his own two feet. He had a couple band-aids on his arm. Without thinking, Jonathan rushed over and flung his arms around his brother, crashing into him a little. Cameron stumbled, but he laughed a bit. He hugged him back, and Jonathan smiled. "You look so much better!" he cheered.

"Yeah, I  _feel_  better." He sounded tired. But a lot more like himself. "They…gave me a shot. And they put a big needle in my arm, I wasn't a very big fan of that." Jonathan pulled back and looked him over. But there wasn't anything else to see. He didn't feel hot anymore, even. " _But_  the nurse was really nice, her name was Sally, and she gave me a sucker. So, you  _totally_  wish you were me." Jonathan shot him a look at the tease; Cameron just grinned even more. But it was nothing compared to the beam that came over his face when Sebastian turned to leave, and stopped long enough to give his hair an affectionate ruffle. He didn't say anything or do anything else, but Cameron looked absolutely over the moon.

Jonathan just ducked his head and waited for their dad to leave. Before he looked up and asked a little hesitantly: "So…" Cameron looked back at him, frowning a bit more. "Did, uh…did the nurse— did Sally…say anything?" he asked, trying not to sound too hopeful. Cameron tilted his head to the side. "Did she…ask any questions, or…try and…talk to you or anything?"

The reply got his heart to shatter, and fall. "No," Cameron chirped. Jonathan shifted, and looked down at the ground. He crossed his arms over his chest. Cameron's eyebrows furrowed. "What? What's wrong?" Jonathan didn't answer, but he  _did_ look up at him. With something close to exhaustion. Trying not to be too obvious with his sadness and disappointment. Cameron looked right back at him, very blankly. Genuinely lost and confused when he asked: "What would she have asked?"

Jonathan took in a slow breath, having to practically force it down. He let it out just as slowly. He tried to smile. It was even more ineffective than it had been the night before. He found that there was a lump in his throat when he croaked out: "Nothing…nothing at all." Cameron still looked unsure, and puzzled. Jonathan couldn't bring himself to stomach the expression. He couldn't look at it. He just grabbed his brother's wrist and started to pull him back upstairs. Sighing out an exhausted: "You should lay back down."

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

They shared a cake. They always shared a cake…when they were  _given_  an actual cake. Sometimes they didn't get one – there wasn't time, or they or were on the road, or some other excuse that always cropped up – and they had to make do. But this year they  _were_  given one. Which was only right. Given the circumstances. Jonathan was sitting by Cameron when Sebastian placed it in front of them. Ten candles clustered together on top. It was haphazardly covered with sprinkles and little stars. Cameron had gotten to it, that way. He always liked to decorate the cake. Jonathan was the froster, and Cameron was the decorator. Not unlike every other aspect of their relationship…you couldn't have one thing without the other.

"Happy birthday." Sebastian actually sounded affectionate with the wish.

Jonathan looked at Cameron. His brother was positively beaming. He had bags under his eyes. He'd been gone last night and he had come home later than usual this morning…he'd spent more than half their birthday sleeping, until he had literally forced himself to get up to be with Jonathan, despite the fact that Jonathan had told him it was alright, and that it wasn't important. He'd brushed it off. They'd been sitting at the table earlier playing cards, and Cameron had practically been asleep. Now that the cake was being brought out he was more awake. With how much he was smiling, one would guess he'd just won the lottery.

Cameron caught him staring. He turned, and blinked. For a couple seconds, it seemed like his face was going to fall. But then he brightened up, and reached over to nudge Jonathan's shoulder. "You make a wish," he urged. Jonathan was already shaking his head, but Cameron wasn't going to listen to any of it. "Last time we had a cake, you let me make it." The last time they'd had a cake had been when they were six, or seven, probably. But of course Cameron would remember. "So now it's your turn, you get the wish."

He looked uncertainly from the cake to his brother. It didn't take him very long to find what he wanted, if Cameron really wasn't going to take the wish. He looked at his twin's tired demeanor. At his stooped posture, but his smile, which was so genuine.  _How_ could his smile be so genuine? It made his heart hurt. It took the brief distraction of this stupid cake and made it obsolete. It didn't matter. Jonathan's sadness must have leaked out and grown more apparent, because Cameron started to lose his grin. Staring at him for a few moments more, Jonathan turned back to the cake. Made his wish, and hoped that it would come true. He closed his eyes and sucked in a breath, and in one gust, he blew them all out.

Sebastian smiled. Started asking how big a slice they wanted.

Jonathan just turned back to Cameron, his stare unchanged. Remaining heavy.

Cameron tried to pretend he didn't notice, and just look at their dad and smile again.

But Jonathan was guilty when he recognized the fact that this smile was less enthusiastic…and that the fact brought him nothing but satisfaction.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

"It's been months."

Jonathan  _never_ brought it up first. He never wanted to talk about any of it. He only talked about it when it was unavoidable. But he was, now. He was sitting cross-legged on the floor beside Cameron. The two of them were doing a puzzle. It was a thousand pieces, and in the end it would make a picture of a beautiful place with waterfalls and butterflies and sunshine. It didn't fit what was going on around it. The topic of conversation was much too horrible to be taking place over such a pretty puzzle. But it was.

Cameron was thoughtful, as he scanned all the pieces for another corner one. "Yeah," he said, very simply. Jonathan's eyes flickered over to him. He watched his brother just lean out and pluck out a jigsaw piece, satisfied as he turned and put it where it belonged. "I guess it has," he hummed, looking for another. Jonathan felt the tiniest tug of frustration that he could be so careless about the topic. Or so… _unaffected_ by it. He had dark circles under his eyes. His hand shook a little bit whenever he reached out for a piece. But  _still,_ he was so dismissive.

Jonathan just took in a slow breath and matched his tone of voice as best he could. He searched for another piece himself, to help make the waterfall, as he asked conversationally: "When do you think you're gonna stop?"

Cameron hesitated mid-reach. If only for a second. But it was a second that Jonathan noticed. Before he shook himself and got himself moving again. "I dunno," he replied, slower this time, and softer. He didn't offer anything else. Chatterbox as Cameron was, now he was going silent. Jonathan wasn't surprised.

He grabbed another piece and fit it where it belonged. "Do you  _want_ to stop?" he prompted.

Cameron was quiet. In the time it took him to reply, they fit together seven more pieces. Eventually, he managed: "I dunno." Even quieter. Even slower.

Jonathan turned and looked at him, even though Cameron wasn't doing the same. His brother was pretending with every fiber in his being that he didn't notice him staring. He just kept working on the puzzle. Jonathan raised his eyebrows and declared: " _I_  think you want to stop." Cameron hesitated again. He got over it faster, but it wasn't fast enough for Jonathan not to notice. A horrible kind of certainty rested over his shoulders. "I  _know_ you wanna stop," he amended. Cameron's eyes flashed, but that was it. He kept working on the jigsaw. "So why  _don't_  you?"

Cameron was beginning to gnaw down on his bottom lip. His voice was just a whisper when he managed: "…I dunno."

"I think you do, though," Jonathan objected. He wasn't even pretending to be interested in the puzzle anymore. "I think you know, and you just won't tell me." Cameron was silent. Jonathan glanced around the room to make sure they were alone. But Sebastian had just gone to take a nap. He leaned a little closer. He smiled encouragingly, even though Cameron wasn't looking at him, still. "You can tell me, Cam," he murmured. Cameron's shoulders hunched. "Is there something wrong? Did Dad say something to you? Did someone  _else_ say something to you?" Cameron just grew more uncomfortable with every pry. He leaned even closer. "Cameron, if there's something else that's going on, you can tell me, I—"

"Your foot is on a piece I need," he murmured. Jonathan blinked a couple times, before he looked down. Sure enough, he'd scooted over on a couple of the pieces. He shifted. Cameron reached down and picked it up. Turned to put it where it belonged. His expression was heavy, and his lip was red from biting it. Jonathan wilted. He thought that his brother was going to let it drop there. But as soon as the belief started to become a certainty for him, he said under his breath: "You twin swore." Jonathan stiffened. Cameron's eyes were a little narrowed. "You  _twin swore_  to me," he pressed.

He hesitated. Before he mumbled: "That was just about telling…I didn't say I wouldn't—"

"If you want to be my twin, you won't," Cameron interrupted, just as quietly. Jonathan wilted. "If you want to be my brother, you  _won't."_ Cameron prompted after a few tense seconds of silence: "Are you going to stay my brother?"

Jonathan's stomach was twisting. "…Cameron, you're not being—"

" _Are_ you?"

His chest ripped. His shoulders went slack. His reply was reluctant and soft. A tiny, defeated: "Yes."

Cameron nodded once. Looked aimlessly over the puzzle, before he sighed: "I hope we're not missing a piece." Jonathan watched sadly as he went back to shifting through all the pieces, trying to group alike ones. Purposefully putting him and everything else out of his mind. "That'd really suck…to get all the way to the end and figure out you're missing one. Finding out you've got a gap."

He kept staring at his little brother. Before he forced himself to turn back and follow Cameron's lead: ignoring everything and just focusing on what didn't matter. "Yeah," he whispered, grabbing a corner piece. "…It would."

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

"What do you mean? 'Bye?'" Jonathan demanded, looking at Cameron like he'd grown a second head.

Cameron seemed remorseful. Just as upset. At his feet was a bookbag…the bookbag he usually took with him— when he had warning. On the other occasions – more often than not – he was told five minutes before he had to leave with a stranger, and he just went without anything. Those were the nights that he came back in the same clothes. At least this time, he had a bag. But… _why_ did he have a  _bag?_ Cameron tried to give him a smile, despite the fact his brother was shooting him such a look. "I'll be back tomorrow," he promised, like he always did. A canned and worthless vow.

Jonathan set his book aside and stood up. He'd been sitting on the ground with his back against the wall. He was refusing to sit on the new couch Sebastian had bought two weeks ago. He hadn't touched it once. And he promised he never would. Same went for the new TV in the living room. And the new toaster in the kitchen. And about a million other thing that made him angry just by their  _presence._ "You  _can't_ leave tonight!" he objected. Cameron looked away, starting to hug himself. Jonathan just kept looking at him in shock. Sebastian chose that moment to walk into the room; likely just tracking Cameron down to nudge him out the door faster. Jonathan whirled on him immediately and repeated: "He  _can't_ leave tonight! It's Christmas Eve! He has to stay  _here!"_

Sebastian regarded him sternly. "Jonathan," he said warningly. "Watch your tone."

"My  _tone!?"_ he repeated. He scoffed and shook his head, glaring at Sebastian with enough rage to melt him. "Watch my  _tone!?_ You  _can't_ make him leave on Christmas Eve! You  _can't!"_

"Nobody is  _making_  Cameron do anything," Sebastian replied. Cameron looked down to study the floor. "Cameron is just more mature than you are." Jonathan was scowling; his hands were clenching into fists. "Unlike you, he understands that sacrifices have to be made for family. He understands each of us have a job to do and we have to carry out that job."

"What's  _your_ job?" Jonathan spat. "You're just the guy that takes the money."

Cameron cringed. "Jonathan…"

"I don't expect you to understand," Sebastian growled. "This is exactly why it had to be Cameron: you're not mature enough. You're still selfish." Jonathan jerked at the accusation. His anger started to melt, to have hurt mingle with it as well. Sebastian turned away from him and went to Cameron instead. Despite everything, and despite his clear discomfort, his little bother smiled when Sebastian's hand went on his shoulder and he brought him in for a small side-hug. "Cameron will be back early tomorrow, in time for Christmas. He knows that. If he didn't want to go, he wouldn't. Cameron  _chooses_ to do this." Cameron's smile fractured just a little. Just enough for Jonathan to notice.

He looked between the two of them, grasping at straws. He shook his head. "Christmas is for family," he objected, feeling childish but saying the first thing that came to mind. "Christmas is for family, family has to stay  _together_ on Christmas Eve." He turned more to Cameron, this time, and tried another tactic. If he'd felt childish before, it was nothing compared to how childish he felt when he attempted: "W-What about Santa, Cameron?" Cameron looked up at him, his eyes flashing. "Santa won't stop at the house if you're not here; if you're not sleeping he'll skip over us! There won't be able presents to even open!"

Jonathan had found out when he was seven that Santa wasn't real. He'd figured it out by himself, and the grief was very short-lived. He had gotten over it quickly, reasoning that perhaps it  _had_ been a little flawed to believe there was a man in the North Pole with flying reindeer that somehow managed to afford and carry toys for every single child on planet Earth. He didn't even pay  _taxes._  But Cameron? Cameron  _never_  stopped believing. Which was odd, considering they were involved in so much trickery for magic. But mostly, it had been thanks to Jonathan. Jonathan had helped  _really_ amp up the Santa factor, once he knew. Not that Sebastian didn't  _do_ it, but he'd always done the bare minimum. And he certainly wouldn't have kept up the charade for as long as Jonathan had.

Their father had stopped trying as much once Jonathan found out. But that was alright. Jonathan wrapped all their presents in the hallway closet so that Cameron wouldn't see. He snuck out of their room at night and arranged everything to look official, and he took bites of the cookies Cameron left out. He read his letters to Santa and smiled whenever Cameron apologized for 'that one time I pushed Jonathan, but you have to admit, he was being really annoying and be honest, you probably would have shoved him, too.' Even when they were travelling, Jonathan managed to get him something small. Either getting it right before they left and keeping it hidden until the day came, or sneaking away to buy something from the nearest store that might resemble a Christmas present.

Either way, he did what he could. So well that Cameron had no question. Not yet anyway. Now, he was even more grateful than normal he'd kept up the charade. This was his last ditch effort. "If you leave and if you're not in your bed, Santa won't come," he insisted. "You  _have_ to stay here, Cameron,  _tell_  him! If you want Christmas, you have to stay here. For Santa." He was practically begging him.

Cameron stared at him. There was sullen, sad little frown on his face. But what looked like a lifetime of regret in his eyes. Jonathan's chest constricted as he waited for him to say something— anything. To at least  _ask_  their dad if he could stay…just so Jonathan knew there had been an  _effort_ by him, for  _once._ But he didn't get a beg, or an insistence that Jonathan was right. The only thing he got was Cameron looking at him very sadly and murmuring with a tiny shrug of his shoulder: "Santa's not real."

The three words were hollow, but they were hard enough to punch Jonathan across the face. He jerked back, his eyes going wide. At his reaction, Cameron just grew sadder. He'd…when had he found out? Why hadn't he—? Jonathan went stiff, and his head whipped up so he could look at their father. Sebastian's expression was stony. It clicked, and Jonathan scowled. Anger burned and itched under his skin. He gritted his teeth together so hard he was almost worried they would break. Not that he could have even brought himself to care, at that point.

He glared at his father with accusation and rage. Sebastian just turned away and prompted Cameron: "Say goodbye."

Cameron scurried over quickly. He hugged Jonathan and at first, he just stood there, locked up in his rage. He scowled over Cameron's shoulder as his brother murmured a fervent: "It's fine. It's okay. I don't care." Jonathan's eyes burned. Cameron didn't  _ever not_ care. It wasn't in his vocabulary. He still couldn't bring himself to move. Cameron hesitated before he gave him one last squeeze. "Alright…" His voice was soft. "Bye Johnny…have a good Christmas Eve…" There was weight to the wish. A regret. A sorrow.

He started to pull away, when Jonathan finally snapped into motion and hugged him back, using so much force that he could have crushed his bones. Cameron squeaked with a little surprise, but he didn't fight him. Jonathan was still glaring at Sebastian when he muttered to Cameron: "Come. Back." There was a tiny noise of confusion. Jonathan scowled harder at Sebastian when he told his brother in practically a snarl: "You come  _back_  tomorrow morning."

Cameron wormed his way out. He gave Jonathan an unsure smile. "Of course," he returned. "I always  _do,_ don't I?" He didn't reply. Cameron softened. He gave him one last hug. A tiny, whispered: "Love you, Johnny." And then he was spinning around, dashing back for their father and picking his bag up on the way. Jonathan watched him go, his heart a rock weighing down his chest. He glared at Sebastian the entire way, hoping to  _God_  that he felt the loathing he had for him.

He sat back down on the ground, by the Christmas tree. At least  _that_ wasn't new. He didn't try to get back into his book. He just shifted closer to the fake pine tree and brought his legs up to his chest, settling his head on his knees. He locked himself there, and looked at all the lights, which gradually began to blur and warp through tear-filled eyes. Cameron  _loved_ Christmas. It was his  _favorite_ time of the year. Now their dad was taking  _that_ from him, too. And he was  _letting_ him. And  _Jonathan_ was letting him, too. That last thought stuck, and stayed in a horrible kind of loop.

_I'm letting him. I'm letting him. I'm letting him._

Sebastian came back more than an hour later. Jonathan never knew why it took so long for him to  _dump Cameron off_ on the doorstep of some stranger. When he did, Jonathan didn't turn to look at him immediately. He waited, to hear whether or not he was going to dare walk back in here, or just go to his room. He was almost surprised when he chose to walk back. He listened to the footsteps until they came to a stop. Only then did he look over. Sebastian was alone. Like Jonathan knew he would be.

He looked like he was about to say something. He started to open his mouth.

Jonathan beat him to it.

His voice was soft…but it was a snarl. Something bathed with enough acidity, it was almost worthy of coming out of  _Sebastian's_ mouth, rather than his own. "I hate you," he growled. Sebastian stiffened. Anger began to cloud over his face. Jonathan wasn't scared of it, though.  _Cameron_ was. But Jonathan wasn't. In fact, he just repeated himself. "I  _hate_ you." Tears were choking at the declarations. They weren't as strong and imposing as he wanted them to be, because of that. But he meant it. He waited for Sebastian to snap at him. To yell at him, to hit him, to do something. But he just stood there.

Good.

Maybe that meant he knew he deserved it. Maybe that meant he was ashamed of himself.

"You're just as bad as  _them_ ," Jonathan choked. "You're just as disgusting, you're  _just as horrible, and I hate you. I. Hate. You."_ He turned back to the tree and glared at all the lights. By now, all the colors were just smears. They were ten. Cameron was ten. He was ten. Tonight, they should have spent waiting for Santa. They should have spent baking cookies, trying to guess what their presents would be in the morning. But now Cameron was off in some house he didn't know with a stranger he didn't know doing things Jonathan didn't even want to think about. And now Jonathan was here, alone and upset and furious, staring at the lights that they had put up every year, that Cameron had always beamed at and complimented, feeling like he was going to throw up.

"I wish you weren't our dad," Jonathan spat. "I wish you were  _dead."_

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

"Johnny…Jonathan…Johnny, wake up!"

He did. Little by little bit. Jonathan grimaced and opened his eyes, clearing out the fog that was always left when you got sleep, but not  _enough_ sleep. Only a few meager hours. Which was what he always got, if he got  _any_ sleep, when Cameron was away. Really, the ideal goal was not getting any sleep at all. So he wasn't too sure when he had fallen asleep. But now he was blinking awake, and he saw his brother. He was crouched by his bed, knelt on the ground so his chin was on the mattress, and his head wasn't too far from his brother's. The instant he saw Cameron, Jonathan was scrambling up, his eyes going wide. Cameron's did as well, at the sudden change. He jerked back, alarmed. But Jonathan looked even more so. Already, he was looking him up and down, his heart starting to race as he looked for injuries, or something wrong.

But there wasn't any. Cameron smiled wide, and Jonathan's breathing slowly tapered back to normal, though the startled look stayed on his face. Now that he realized Cameron was okay – more okay than he usually was, even – a little bit of reproach started to leak into his eyes, in fact. He wished it wouldn't. But it was getting harder and harder to stave off, these days. If Cameron noticed the subtle change, he gave no sign. He just kept his smile. He looked tired, but he looked ecstatic, too. Excited. "Good morning," he greeted in a chirp. Jonathan's forehead creased and he started to open his mouth to ask him what the heck was so  _good_ about it. When Cameron was turning and fetching something from behind him. "I got you something!" he sang. Jonathan's reproach still stayed. "I got them on the way home!"

It took a couple turns. There was a lot. Jonathan watched in complete silence as Cameron put down two huge books, practically dictionary-length, with a heartfelt explanation: "I got you the  _complete_ set of Sherlock Holmes books— you're always reading, but you haven't read  _these_ and they're classics, and there's so  _many,_ you'll  _never_ have to stop reading ever again!" Cameron was already turning back for whatever else there was. "And I got…your favorite candy!" he cheered, beaming as he presented a bag of Twizzlers and M&Ms. Jonathan's face didn't change in the slightest when he plopped those on top of the books.  _"Aaaaand,_ just because I'm the  _best_ brother in the world, I got you  _these,_ too!" He added onto the pile a coloring book of intricate design patterns, and a Sudoku book. Both things Jonathan hadn't made a secret of being able to pass hours with. "'Cause you're always saying you're bored," Cameron reminded.

Jonathan kept staring at the pile. There wasn't any expression on his face. Cameron's smile began to weaken. He waited anxiously for a response. His hands were wringing in his lap. Eventually, Jonathan spoke. His voice was just a mumble. Just as apathetic as his expression was. "You got me these to pass the time while you're gone?" The question was so flat you could flip a coin off of it. Cameron blinked fast, caught off-guard by the inquiry. Jonathan didn't even look at him. He shrugged one shoulder. "You got me these…so I'll have something to  _do,_ when you're out there…" He was going to finish it. But it died, before he could make it that far. Maybe he just wasn't brave enough to get it out.

"I…" Cameron's voice was suddenly much, much smaller. He weakened, looking from the pile to his brother. "I just…knew you liked them…"

"You got me books to read, so I can spend the nights you're gone doing something  _other_ than staring at the wall?" He still sounded flat. Dead. Uncaring. Even though it was quite the opposite of that, it's what he sounded like. Cameron was hunching away, like he was in pain. "You got me books so I can focus on the plot of whatever it is, instead of the fact that you're with  _another_ grown-up that just hurts you?" Cameron tried interjecting. He opened and closed his mouth repeatedly, stuck in a cycle of looking between the things he'd bought and his brother. He couldn't get anything out. "You got me candy to make up for the fact that you're never here anymore?" Jonathan kept mumbling. "You think  _candy_ is enough to convince me what you're doing isn't  _horrible?"_

"I…" Cameron was starting to cry. He didn't need to look at him; he heard it in his voice. He heard his tiniest of hitches, the way the ends of his words began to choke off. "I just…knew you…liked them," he repeated. By the end of the tiny sentence, he was practically whispering. The tension in the air between them was suddenly thick enough to cut through. Tension was there that had never been there before. Before all of this, they had been so close that tension wasn't even a factor in their relationship. Ever. It was foreign. Nowadays, it seemed like that was all there was.

Jonathan waited to see if he was going to say anything else. He wasn't. So he just asked the question that had been sitting in the bottom of his gut. His next couple words fell out like rocks. He was almost whispering, too. But for a much different reason. He feared if he didn't yell, he would scream. This was the better alternative. "Where'd you get the money for all this, Cameron?"

Cameron's eyes flickered back and forth. He said nothing for a very long time. Before he whispered: "I…just…knew you—"

"I asked. Where you got the money," Jonathan said, very separately, still not looking at him.

Cameron's voice was even more choked when he finally replied. "Jonathan…you  _know_  where I—"

He didn't get the chance to even finish. The second Jonathan was getting the answer he was waiting for, he was reacting. His expression didn't change at all. He didn't even blink. But without warning, he lashed out and pushed the pile off his bed. All the books, all the candy, tumbled right off his mattress to the floor with a thud. Cameron cried out, having to skitter backwards to avoid being hit with all of it. Jonathan could feel his eyes boring a hole through him. He knew he was staring at him, waiting for him to finally meet his gaze. But he knew what he'd get when he looked at him. He knew the tears that would be there, the heartbroken apology written all over his face, the straining plead for him not to be like this.

He knew it would be there, and he knew he wouldn't be able to stand up to it. Because he hadn't ever been able to in the past. So he didn't look at his brother. Abruptly, with that same apathy, Jonathan just turned and laid back down. He rolled over to put his back to Cameron and he curled up, pulling the blanket over his head. There was absolute silence once he did. Jonathan listened to it all. And he listened when there was the tiniest scuff against the floorboards, like Cameron was getting up to his feet. He heard him gather everything together again…heard him put it down close, to where he'd find it when he woke up. He heard his light footsteps walk away…not back to his bed, but out the door— he knew he was going to go take a shower.

Jonathan listened to all of it. And he heard the tiniest of chokes and sniffs on Cameron's way out.

They were soft— Cameron was trying to hide the fact he was crying. But Jonathan heard, and even though they were minimal, the noises were immediately stabbing straight into his heart. He was staring at the wall, and he stayed put together as long as he possibly could. But when Cameron's footsteps disappeared out the door and down the hall, he couldn't help it. His expression crumbled, and began to break. His lips shook and he screwed his eyes shut. He curled up into a ball and inhaled sharply, letting out his breath in thin, shaking sobs that didn't make it past his knees.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Sherlock Holmes books  _sucked._ Jonathan had  _no idea_  why  _anyone_ liked them. They were thirteen pages long each…and the mystery was always solved on the very last page. Crammed into the last three paragraphs. It was  _stupid._ The ending was supposed to be the best  _part._ The ending was where you got the solution, where everything was resolved and you got to see it all come back together. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle or whatever the heck his name was didn't care at all about resolutions. He cared  _so_ much about the  _issues_ and not about the way it was solved. It wasn't fair. Every time he started new story, he was hoping that it would be different. He was hoping  _this_ time it would be different. With  _this_ story it would be better, and there would be more focus on the other half of the story. But every time, he was disappointed.

He was sick of it. He was sick of trying. He read a whole other case, and when it was just the same as the other one, he tore it. Jonathan scowled and drew the line. He slammed the book closed, too sick to keep on looking at it. After he slammed it closed, he threw it as hard as he could manage. It hit the wall with a thud. He tried to find satisfaction from the noise, but it was hard to. He wished it was easier. Jonathan just scowled off into space, tucking up close to himself. The house was silent. The thud seemed to echo.

For a second, at least the thud made him feel a little less lonely. But it could only last for so long.

He was trying to think of what else he was supposed to do. When all of a sudden, something cut through the silence shrouding the house. Jonathan looked up when he heard the phone start to ring downstairs. He perked, looking towards the door with a frown. He'd been listening out for Sebastian to come home. Usually he wasn't gone this long, when he took Cameron away. Last time he'd checked, it had been almost midnight. Maybe he'd come back and he just hadn't heard? He waited for the thought to be confirmed— for the phone to be picked up. They weren't allowed to answer the phone. Too many variables. Sebastian had lectured them over it once, but Jonathan had stopped listening halfway through.

But now, the phone was ringing out. It was never picked up. He waited throughout all the rings, but apparently Sebastian wasn't home to answer. Silence came back, and it was just as uncomfortable as it was the first time he had to experience it. Jonathan weakened a little bit. His eyes went back to the book he had thrown across the room. His shoulders hunched a little. He started to push himself up to get it back. To maybe give Sherlock one last chance to actually come to a decent conclusion. But the very second he started to push himself up, the phone started ringing again. He jerked in surprise. He looked back at the door in confusion. Hesitated. But then got himself back into motion.

He got up and walked for the door, moving straight past the book and heading downstairs. He followed the sound of the phone, all the while looking out for his dad, wondering why the heck he wasn't home yet. It was late. And apparently, whoever was calling really needed to talk to him. He got down to the living room and eventually stopped in front of it. It was on one of its last few rings. Against himself, Jonathan wilted, torn on what he was going to do. Sebastian had lectured plenty of times that they were to never answer. He hated his father. With every fiber of his being. But standing there now, watching the phone ring nervously, he hesitated, thinking of what he might do if he found out, and wondering if it was worth it.

It occurred to him then, that this was close to the exact same train of thought that Cameron must have. The second it dawned, Jonathan weakened, and the line was torn. He reached out to answer it. He'd waited too long; the second his fingers touched it, the ringing stopped. Jonathan's eyes widened; his stomach dropped. His arm swung loosely back down to his side. Disappointment welled up in his chest. He wasn't sure if he was disappointed because he didn't get the chance to figure out who kept calling, or if he didn't get the chance to go against an order Sebastian had given him. Either way. The opportunity was gone, now. He made a face and stepped back. Turned away and started to make his reluctant way back up the steps.

When the phone rang again.

This time, he wasted no time. He whirled back around and picked the phone up midway through its second ring. He didn't care what might happen— what might be found out. Whoever this was, they'd called three times, now. So he answered. "Hello?"

There was the tiniest gap of silence. Before a tiny whisper met him. "Johnny?"

Jonathan straightened immediately. "Cameron?" His eyebrows drew together. "Cameron, why are you calling? You— you  _never_  call." Calling was only for emergencies. In general, anyway. Not that before now, they'd ever had a reason to call the house. But then again…he wasn't sure what the reason was at all, that Cameron was calling.

Cameron didn't answer. All he did was whisper back: "Where's Dad?"

Jonathan frowned, turning in a tiny circle to look again, though he knew he'd come up empty. "Sebastian? He's not— Cameron, he's not here, he never came back— I thought he was still with you." He looked at the clock again. Fear was starting to itch underneath his skin. "Why are you calling?" he repeated. He stiffened and pressed: "Why are you whispering? What's going on?"

Cameron was quiet for a long couple of seconds. Jonathan's grip on the phone tightened when he heard something that sounded much too similar to a whimper on the other line. Cameron's voice was soft and quiet when he got out a tiny choke of: "Find Dad— you have to give him the phone, I have to talk to him."

"Cameron, I  _can't,"_ he pressed. "He's not  _here."_ This time he definitely heard a whimper. A desperate, frightened one. He was practically digging the phone into the side of his head, by now. "He's not  _home,_ Cameron, I have no idea where he is.  _Why_ do you need him? What's wrong?" He went silent, and strained to listen. His hands tightened around the phone, when he heard his brother breathing faster than normal. He could hear tiny chokes every so often, between each inhale.  _"Cameron,"_  he pressed, just growing more and more desperate. But he stopped and took in a deep breath, and forced himself to relax. He forced his voice to turn gentler, and sweeter. Fighting tooth and nail not to show the pure fear and worry that was starting to lace its hands around his throat. " _Cam_ …Cam,  _I'm_ here.  _I'm_  here for you— just tell me what's wrong. Tell me what's happening."

"I…" Jonathan looked despairingly at the wall when he heard his brother whimper again. He was  _scared;_ he could feel how scared he was, through the phone. "N-…Nothing is— nothing…" he murmured. "I just— nothing is happening… _yet,_ but I don't— …I just need to talk to Dad. I just need Dad, I need to talk to him," he croaked. Jonathan pressed a hand to his forehead when he realized that his brother was crying. He was trying to hide it, but the effort was useless. Jonathan could  _always_ tell when he was upset. When he was crying. He cried so much more often than he used to… "I can't do this one." Jonathan's stomach flipped at the choked declaration, blurted out suddenly, as if Cameron felt like if he didn't throw this out, it wouldn't get out at all. "I can't do this one, I can't. I wanna come home, I can't do this one."

"Wait— wait, wait, Cam, calm down…" Jonathan was struggling to keep his voice just as soft. He tried to talk to him like he was actually there…like he always did when his brother was crying, and he hugged him, murmuring gently in his ear and smoothing through his hair. He tried to make his voice even  _gentler_ , so maybe Cameron could picture him holding him. Since he wasn't able to do it the way he actually wanted to. "Calm down, Cam, okay?" he prompted. "You don't want to—?" He had to clear his throat, otherwise it was going to shut prematurely on him. "Why? What's happening?" Suddenly it connected why his brother must be whispering. "Where are you? Where are  _they?"_

"They're— I dunno…" His voice started to shake even more. "I don't know where they are, I don't— I'm in the bathroom, I took the phone, I—" He sniffed. "I just wanna come home, I don't want to stay here tonight…they scare me— I'm scared, Johnny, I'm  _really scared."_ The last two words crumbled away into hushed sobs. But, quiet as they were, they were earsplitting to Jonathan. Using both hands, now, Jonathan was pulling the phone even closer to him. He was bending low, as though he was trying to shoulder a very difficult weight on his shoulders. He felt like he'd been doing that for forever, though; maybe now, it was finally just beginning to take its toll on him. Maybe now he was finally crumbling.

No. No, he couldn't crumble. He couldn't crumble on Cameron, he had to be stronger for him. "It's okay, Cam," he soothed. "It's okay, don't be scared, you're gonna be okay— I'll make sure you're okay. I always make sure you're okay, don't I?" All Jonathan heard was another sniff. So he prompted a little harder:  _"Don't_ I, Cam?" He heard another sniff. But then, a tiny, tearful 'Uh huh.' "Right," Jonathan pressed, hiding his own sniff and just wiping his nose instead. "Right, so— so I'm gonna fix it, okay? Yeah?" Another 'Uh huh.' "So uh…" Jonathan was wracking his brain, struggling to figure something out.  _Anything_ out. "T— Tell me where you are, Cam. Do you know the address?"

He had vain hope. But he was stabbed with disappointment when all he got was: "No."

Jonathan closed his eyes. When it got to be silent for more than a couple of moments, he heard Cameron start to breathe faster again. So he opened then again and straightened. "N— that's fine, Cameron, it's okay," he reassured. "So, just— uh…what you're gonna do is…what you're gonna do is just—  _tell_  them. Tell them that you can't do it, tell them that you wanna come home, and they'll—"

"They'll get  _mad,_ Jonathan, I can't— I  _can't— I—"_

"You  _can,_ Cameron. You just tell them to let you leave, and that—"

" _They're gonna hurt me!"_ Cameron was still whispering, but he was crying, and gasping. It still sounded much too loud. Jonathan went mute; his expression went numb when he heard Cameron's sobs. Thick, and terrified. He didn't know what to say. So Cameron kept going. His voice practically hissed its way out of his throat, barley making it out in the first place. "They're gonna hurt me if I don't, but I think they're gonna hurt me if I  _do_ , I'm scared I just wanna come home, I just— I don't want to get hurt, but I don't know what to do. I need Dad! He left ages ago, but— b-but I need Dad! I need Dad, I need Dad to come pick me up again, I don't want to do this one!" Jonathan was still trying to figure out what to say. Cameron kept crying, mumbling softly under his breath. "I don't want to do this…I don't want to do this one…"

Jonathan could only bring himself to get out a tiny murmur. "They're…you think…they're gonna hurt you?"

"They told me they will," Cameron croaked. Jonathan stiffened. Cameron just kept crying: "They  _told_  me they're gonna hurt me, they  _told_ me…"

"What…" Jonathan's lips were hardly moving. "What did they say…?"

" _I need Dad, Jonathan!"_ Cameron hissed, almost yelling this.

"Dad's not  _here, Cameron! Only_ I _am!"_ Jonathan yelled back. Cameron didn't reply. All Jonathan could hear was his muffled sobbing. He closed his eyes again and took a deeper breath. Forced himself to keep his voice in check again, and try his best to go back to being gentle. It was a difficult task, and he wasn't sure he did it well enough at all. Probably not. But all the same. "Cameron…okay, Cam, then— then you're going to leave," he announced. Cameron just sniffed again. "You're gonna— is there a window in the bathroom? Can you open it? Can you crawl out of it?" Cameron didn't reply at first. Jonathan tore it and just went on fast.  _"Break it,_ if you have to, Cameron! Break the window!"

"I— I  _can't_ , Johnny, I—"

"Cameron, you  _listen to me,"_ he snapped. He was dropping the niceness in his voice, and the sweetness. He was getting sterner, now. Leaving no room for hesitation. "You're gonna  _leave._ You're going to  _leave,_ because that's what's going to keep you  _safe._ That's what's going to keep you from getting  _hurt._ You don't owe them  _anything,_ Cameron, but you know who you  _do_ owe something to? You owe something to  _me._ You  _owe_ it to me, to get back here  _safe_ — I'm your older brother and  _you're_ my baby brother;  _you_  owe it to  _me_  to not get hurt. You owe it to me to get back here, so  _get back here. Break the window._ Or— or run out the door, run outside— start  _screaming,_ if they try to grab you start  _screaming,_ at the top of your lungs— someone will hear you and they'll run out and they'll help you— or— or hang up and call the police! Hang up and call the police and they'll—"

" _Jonathan!"_ Jonathan jerked at the sudden shout of his name. He spun around, and his eyes flew wide when he realized Sebastian was suddenly storming his way over to him. He was so caught up in his brother that he hadn't heard him come in at all. Now, all of a sudden he was less than two feet away, and before Jonathan could say a single word, or even gasp, he was wrenching the phone away from him. Jonathan tried to fight back and keep a firmer hold, but he cried out when Sebastian planted a hand against his chest and shoved him hard. He was knocked clean backwards. He hit he ground on his back so hard that for a second he was winded. He just stared up at the ceiling with wide eyes.

While he was trying to recollect himself, Sebastian started talking. His voice was bathed with poison. He was whispering, but with the amount of rage and anger that was choking his voice, he may as well have been snarling.  _"Cameron._ What _are you doing?"_ he hissed, not even giving him the chance to answer. "Hang up the phone, Cameron.  _Now._ Hang up the phone and get back to—"

Jonathan sat himself up. His head hurt. But he was staring up at Sebastian, his heart in his throat. He could hear Cameron's voice on the other line. He couldn't make out the words, but he could  _hear_ his brother's fear and desperation. He heard the pleads that he was making with their father— the begs that were obviously falling on dead ears. Sebastian just shook his head hard and snapped back: "Cameron.  _Stop. Stop it, right now."_ He looked furious. Fit to kill. Jonathan knew that if Cameron was actually here, just the glower on his face alone would be causing his little brother to burst into tears. Not that he wasn't positive Cameron was still sobbing where he was— most likely sobbing even  _more,_ now.

"Cameron, I said  _stop it!"_ Sebastian spat. Abruptly, the other line went silent. Jonathan's own eyes started to water as he pictured what his brother must look like right now. He was probably curled up away, wedging himself as far away as he could into the farthest corner of the bathroom. He was probably crying, covering his mouth to try and stifle his sobs and gasps. Clinging to the phone like it was a lifeline, but that lifeline was already disappointing him. "I cannot  _believe_ you are doing this— hang up the phone  _right now."_

"He doesn't  _want to!"_ Jonathan found his voice again, and when he finally did, he let it out in the loudest scream he could manage. Sebastian turned his furious glare onto him. He was just scrambling up to his feet. "He doesn't  _want to,_ he wants to come  _home, they're going to hurt him! He's your_ son!  _Go back and get him! Bring him home! Bring him—!"_ Whatever else he was going to say was cut off. He'd started to rush forward— maybe to hit Sebastian, maybe to try and get the phone back. Whatever the reason, before he could make any contact at all, Sebastian was lashing out and striking him. Without any remorse or hesitation, he backhanded Jonathan. The smack was loud enough to echo, practically. Jonathan was thrown to the ground with the force. He hit the ground face-first; this time he was winded for longer.

After ensuring his  _other_ son was out of commission for the moment, he went back to Cameron, only sounding angrier. "Cameron Alistair Black, you hang up this phone  _right now._  You go out there, and—  _no! No, I am_ not _coming to get you, I am_ not  _bringing you back, Cameron, do you understand me!?_ You  _told me_ you would do this for me— for  _us!"_ Jonathan tried to object to this, but he was still just on his hands and knees, trying to get his head to stop spinning. "Cameron,  _stop it! Stop!"_ He sounded almost disgusted.  _"Stop crying,_ you're acting like a toddler! I thought you were mature enough for this!" Jonathan realized when he looked up again that tears had long since started streaming down his face. He didn't know what he was choking more on: hatred for his father, or desperation for his brother. The two went hand in hand.

"Cameron." Sebastian's voice was horribly flat, now. "Do you  _realize_ what will happen if you leave? Do you realize what will happen if you call the police, or if you do  _any_  of what Jonathan said? You will be  _taken away."_ Jonathan's glare faltered just briefly. It was more of an impulse thing, just at first. But as Sebastian kept going, his expression only fell more. "You and Jonathan will  _both_ get taken away from me. There's no more show, no more of  _us,_ you will have been responsible for  _ruining_ a family tradition. Ruining what makes us,  _us!"_ This, Jonathan didn't care at all about. It was his father's next snap that got him to stop short. "If you tell  _anyone,_ or do  _anything_ out of line, you and your brother will get taken away, and do you  _know_ what they do to siblings that get taken away, Cameron!? They  _separate_  them!"

The other line was absolutely silent, now. Jonathan was just as much so. Sebastian kept going. "If you do  _anything –_ if  _either of you_ do anything at all – then this entire thing falls apart, you'll get taken away, and you'll likely never be able to see each other again, is that what you want, Cameron!? Do you  _want_ to never see me again!? Do you  _want_ to never see  _Jonathan_ again!?" This, he waited for a reply for. Sure enough, Jonathan's heart twisted as he heard the tiniest of croaks. Sebastian didn't look at all pleased. "Then you  _do whatever is asked of you, Cameron._ If you want to keep any of this in your life – if you want to keep  _Jonathan_ in your life – then you'll  _stop this nonsense, hang up this phone, go back out, and do whatever it is that is asked of you without a single complaint or so much as a_ grimace,  _do I make myself perfectly clear!?"_

Jonathan couldn't remember how to breathe. He just stared numbly at his father, tears still marking their way down his face.

Sebastian yelled:  _"Answer the_ damn _question, Cameron!"_

He heard this squeak, too. He could hear the defeated tone all the way where he was.

Still, Sebastian didn't even seem relieved. He just snapped tensely: "Then  _do it._ I will be there  _in the morning._ So help me  _God,_ there'd better not be a  _single issue_ to hear about when I do." He took the phone away from his ear and hung up. He turned and slammed it back down on the table. With the amount of force he used, Jonathan was shocked it didn't crumble apart into millions of pieces. That's what it felt like his  _heart_ was doing, as he stared at the device…at the only connection he had with Cameron now, hung up and cut off. He only roused when Sebastian turned and shot him a poisonous glare. "I've told you before you are  _never_ allowed to answer the phone!" he snapped. Jonathan tore his eyes away. He looked up his father. The entire left side of his face was burning from the smack.

"He…" Jonathan was caught between unspeakable rage and horrible guilt. That he knew his brother was scared, and alone and upset, and he could do nothing for him. That he was going to get hurt. That everyone knew he was going to get hurt, including him, but nothing was being done about it. His eyes watered even more. He had to force out his words through the chokehold around his throat. "He  _trusted_ you." His lips were shaking and sobs were hidden underneath his every word. But still, he shoved it all out. "He called and he asked for you because he was scared and because  _he wanted you to come and get him so he wouldn't get hurt, he trusted you and you let him down!"_ He was screaming by the time he was through. He was back up on his feet, now. But after everything, he was left a little dizzy. The fact was tiny, though.

"Cameron knows what he was getting into, he—"

" _Cameron's ten and he wants to come home!"_ Jonathan screeched, sobbing between every word.

" _Jonathan,_ don't make me—" Jonathan didn't want to listen anymore. Ignoring his lightheadedness, he made a sudden sprint for the phone again. Desperately, he made the lunge, unsure whether he was going to try and call Cameron back, or if he was going to call the police. But the very second he was rushing forward, Sebastian was stooping down to grab him hard. He yanked him back and held him much too tightly, pinning his arms to his sides and crushing his ribs as he dragged him away from it, Jonathan literally kicking and screaming in the effort to fight him. "Jonathan,  _stop it right now!"_ Jonathan just kept thrashing, yanking out for the phone. Sebastian scowled and moved, yanking him by the collar and pulling him away. He stumbled backwards. He barely managed to catch himself.

Half the reason he managed it in the first place, was because Sebastian grabbed his arm hard and yanked him back up. His fingers were digging into his skin, grinding down against bone. Jonathan yelped, but Sebastian just yanked him again and threw him right back into silence. He glared tearfully at the floor when his father leaned down to growl into his ear. "You  _listen to me,_ Jonathan Black. I  _never_ want to hear you  _encouraging_ behavior like that  _ever_ again, do you understand me? If you start rubbing off on Cameron—"

"He didn't want to do it!" Jonathan sobbed. His arm and his face hurt too much to sound angry, anymore. He just hurt. "He didn't want to do it, he didn't  _want to!"_ This entire time, Cameron hadn't wanted to, Jonathan was sure of it. He'd just stomached it… _somehow._ But now, he'd cracked. He'd broken, and he's finally said  _out loud_ that he didn't want to keep doing it. And what had happened? He was just yelled at. Told to grow up. He'd taken this  _huge_ step, and for  _what?_ "He didn't  _want_ to!" he kept crying. "And you just told him he didn't matter, you just scared him, you just lied to him, you—!"

" _Nothing_ that I said was a lie!" he snapped. Sebastian kept a hold on his arm, but he wrenched him around so that he had no choice but to look at him. "If Cameron breathes a word of this – if  _either of you_ breathe a  _word_ of this – you will get taken  _away._ You will get taken away and given to  _other adults_ who I  _guarantee_ will be  _so much worse_ than I am!" Jonathan pressed his lips tightly together, trying his best not to break down. But the longer he went on, the more difficult it was getting. "If you tell  _anyone, anything at all,_ you will both get taken away and sent to families that have  _ten_ other kids, and not enough food! You'll be shuffled around from house to house, never staying in one place for very long, and eventually, if it doesn't happen right away, you and Cameron  _will_ be split up! And it will be  _impossible_ for you two to see each other  _ever again!"_

Jonathan fought just to take in a tiny gasp. He started to whimper out: "Y-…You're lying, you're—"

" _Believe me, I am not,"_ Sebastian snarled in his face. Jonathan cringed away. "If you want to  _chance it,_ go ahead, but a year from now, when you haven't seen Cameron for months on end and you're getting  _starved and hit_ by a foster family that has seven too many kids in their basement, you'll  _remember_ what I said to you right now, and you'll  _wish_ you had listened." Jonathan was breathing fast, his eyes rounded out wide. Sebastian paused just a couple more moments, scowling at him. Before he let go by throwing him off. Jonathan stumbled, choking a little. He wiped his eyes and turned back, but Sebastian was already storming away. Leaving him behind.

Jonathan just stared after him. He stayed standing in the living room. Now that he was alone, his lips were starting to shake more. He looked from the spot Sebastian disappeared, to the phone. His heart tore. His hand twitched at his side, wanting nothing more than to reach out and pick it up again. But he couldn't. He kept it at his side.

But the fact that he did, just made him cry more.

. . . .

Jonathan didn't sleep. All night, he stayed up with a heavy feeling of dread pressing down on his lungs. He paced a lot, because if he sat still for too long, the impatience and worry and fear would get to be too much for him. Pacing didn't do a  _lot,_ but it kept him at least halfway busy. Marginally, so. When it started to get lighter, though, he went and sat with his back to the door. He kept an ear out. He heard Sebastian moving downstairs— he heard his footsteps, like he did every morning. And, like every morning, he heard the door click closed.

But this morning, Jonathan wasn't in the mood to wait in his room. The second he heard the door close, he was pushing himself up and going out into the hall. He went downstairs, and he bypassed everything to just sit down in front of the door. Avoiding the new couch which faced the new TV, because he was sick of seeing them. He just curled up and put his chin on his knees. He didn't move a single muscle, or even blink, but as he sat there and stared, his heart began to ram uncomfortably hard against his ribs. His hands were curled so that his nails were biting into his palms. He was chewing on the inside of his cheek so hard that it hurt. But he paid no mind.

He waited. And waited. And waited some more. It was a little over an hour when he heard something outside. When he heard footsteps, and murmuring. Jonathan's face fell uncertainly, and he sat up a little more. He stiffened when the doorknob turned, and by the time it was opening, he was pushing himself back up to stand. Sebastian came in first. His expression was unreadable. But his arm was reached back, and Jonathan's breath hitched when he realized why. Cameron couldn't walk. Not without help. Sebastian was bracing him as he went, and Cameron could do a bit by himself. But every step was tiny, and he could only manage severe limps. He was choking and crying…Jonathan saw that his eyes were bright red and puffy. He was crying, but he had  _been_ crying for a long time.

He was stunned into silence, at first. Sebastian glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, but it was only to throw him a silent warning to be quiet. Jonathan didn't even see it, though. He was staring forlornly at his brother, whose head was ducked so low he didn't even notice he was there at all. Sebastian turned back to Cameron as he helped him inside. His voice was soft as he got him over the threshold. "That's it…we're almost there." Jonathan bristled at the tender tone he was using. Cameron just closed his eyes and breathed out shakily. He seemed so exhausted, it was difficult to discern whether or not he was really paying attention to whatever was happening. The hypothesis was proved incorrect though, when Sebastian murmured: "You're doing very well, Cameron." His heart sank when he saw his brother immediately smile, ever so slightly. Just the tiniest twitch of his lips. But it was there anyway. He still seemed elated.

It was enough to shake Jonathan out of wherever else he was. "Cameron!" Sebastian shot him another glare; he didn't care. Cameron looked up a little at the cry, and, of course, he tried to offer him a smile like he always did. But he was in far too much pain. It just looked pathetic. And he immediately ducked his head again and cringed when he had to take another step. Jonathan ran to his brother and grabbed his arms, inadvertently pushing Sebastian out of the way. His father let go of Cameron, and Jonathan immediately flinched as he had to compensate. He didn't realize Cameron could support so little of himself. He was practically holding him up. His brother cried out again, and Jonathan's face fell as he looked over him wildly. "Cameron— Cameron, are you okay?" He wasn't. But he asked anyway.

Cameron was breathing heavily, and unevenly. He staggered, and Jonathan caught him again. He gasped in harder, tears rushing down his face. He was staring at the ground. "I—…hav'ta…" He choked and whimpered. Thankfully, Jonathan knew what he was meaning. Or…not  _thankfully._ But. It was  _something._ Jonathan knew his brother enough to grab his hand and move so that his arm could be slung around his shoulders. So he could brace Cameron up against his side and help him move. Cameron whimpered and cried even more at the pressure. Jonathan choked back all the pain his  _brother's_ pain was inflicting on him.

But he kept helping him. Sebastian was starting to reach over and help as well, but Jonathan threw him a withering glare.  _"Don't_ touch him," he spat. Sebastian drew back. He scowled. Jonathan didn't care. He just turned back and murmured soothingly to Cameron as he helped him down the hall. "You're okay, Cam," he whispered. Cameron just kept whimpering and hissing. "We'll get you in the shower, and after that I can help you upstairs and you can lay down and sleep, that sounds good, doesn't it?" He didn't expect a reply, so he wasn't disappointed when Cameron just kept crying. They left Sebastian behind in the living room and made their slow, torturous way towards the bathroom. He was just glad they had one downstairs, too. Cameron was gonna have to struggle up the steps one way or another, but at least this way it could be put off.

Eventually they made it. Jonathan pushed open the door and got them over the threshold, basically carrying his little brother. He was going to let go of him and make sure he was steady, but to his surprise, Cameron just kept struggling forward. Jonathan was confused, but didn't have the heart to fight against him. He went along, but warily so. "Cam— Cam, what are you…? Cameron, you—" They got the bathtub, and Jonathan was trying to pump the brakes harder. He made a face when Cameron just kept going. He realized too late what he was doing. His eyebrows knitted together in confusion, but he helped him get into the tub. Cameron was practically gagging on the pain when he had to lift his leg enough to step in. But he got it.

He got it, and Jonathan lowered him down to the porcelain floor, still frowning. But Cameron sagged down gratefully. He flinched hard and choked again; he slouched so that he was halfway-laying down, his shoulder pressed into the wall of the tub. His eyes were closed. The way he was breathing, Jonathan probably would have been fooled if someone had told him he'd just finished running a marathon. Jonathan wilted, putting his chin down on the edge and reaching down to brush through his bangs. Cameron's forehead creased in discomfort and pain, and he whimpered again. Jonathan blinked away tears from his eyes. "Cameron…" he murmured weakly. "Cameron, I'm so sorry…"

"T'rn…" Cameron inhaled slowly, like he was literally having to force the air down. Jonathan had to lean down closer, to hear. "T'rn th'…water on…"

He wilted. "Your…your clothes are…" He trailed off. Cameron was shaking his head, in only tiny shifts. Jonathan hesitated. But then he gave in. He took his hand away from his brother's hair and went over to the shower head. He turned on the water and looked back at him with a heavy expression. With the way he was laying, the water was coming down mostly on his stomach. It wasn't hitting his face or getting in his mouth. Cameron was immediately whimpering when the water started to hit him. But he was gradually relaxing as it started to warm. Jonathan felt a touch of relief at that. But that relief was washed away the second he looked down and saw what the  _water_ was washing away.

The water that was running off of his brother was running off red. Jonathan's heart froze…his blood turned to ice. Cameron was bleeding. He was bleeding a  _lot._ "Cameron!" He whirled back to him, trying to see where the injury was. But there wasn't any blood on his shirt. It was blue; he would have seen the purple spots. His heart froze even more when he looked down. When he realized how dark his brother's pants were. They were black. Blood would be  _much_ less noticeable, there… "Cameron…" he rasped. At the change in his voice, his brother cringed and whimpered again. He pressed his face down into his arms. His shoulders were shaking. Jonathan went back to brushing through his hair. It was the only thing he could think of doing. "Cameron…what…what  _happened?"_

"It hurts so bad…" Cameron choked into his arms. "It hurts so  _bad! It hurts!"_

Jonathan's lips shook. He drew his fingers soothingly across his forehead. Eventually, all he could whisper out was: "…I know…" Cameron started crying harder. Hiccupping in between every gasp. Jonathan closed his eyes, feeling the tears leak out down his cheeks. He was silent for a long moment. He turned and watched the water keep running off his brother, trying to take comfort when it became more of a lighter pink instead of the darker red. But it still wasn't much. He ducked his head and cringed. Turned back to his brother and whispered desperately: "We  _have_ to do something…Cam…we can't keep doing this…"

Cameron sniffed hard. His lips hardly moved when he cried: "I don't want to lose you…"

Jonathan's chest ripped in pain. He opened his mouth and scrambled for something to say. But he couldn't think of a single thing. He ended up just ducking his head again, and cringing. Keeping his hand on Cameron, remembering everything his father had yelled at him the night before, and all the certainty that had come with it. Until eventually, knelt on the bathroom floor and leaned down close to his little brother, he just whispered back: "I don't wanna lose you either…"

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

"One more time, Cameron."

Cameron took in a deep breath. Jonathan watched as his brother repeated the escape maneuver with the handcuffs. Cameron hated handcuffs. He knew how uncomfortable they made him. But he'd been working on getting his time down, and sure enough, this time through it was less than three minutes. Once he got out of them and they fell to the ground he looked anxiously at his father, who had been watching the entire thing with extreme care. He seemed anxious. But Sebastian smiled, and the instant he did, Cameron was positively beaming. Instantly, he was lighting up like the sun. Jonathan did the exact opposite.

"Very good, Cameron," Sebastian praised, stooping down to pick up the cuffs for him. Cameron smiled even more, if that was even possible. But he  _did_ , especially when Sebastian ruffled his hair and brought him in a for a hug. A tiny hug, but it was more than he usually gave; it sent him over the moon when he practically scrambled to hug him back, about twice as hard. "You've been working much harder on that. You're  _brilliant_." Cameron giggled a little, as Sebastian drew away. He let his hand linger on his head before it slid down to rest on his shoulder. He gave him one last grin, which Cameron returned wholeheartedly. Jonathan watched each facet of the exchange with a dull disappointment. "Very good."

"Thank you," Cameron practically whispered.

Sebastian nodded. He glanced over at Jonathan, and his grin immediately vanished. Jonathan couldn't even exaggerate how much he did  _not_ care. His voice was stiffer too, when he spoke to him. "I'll expect you to replicate that trick exactly, in the same amount of time." Jonathan sighed and looked away. "In a moment. I have to go make a call." Jonathan looked back in just enough time to see him flash another smile at Cameron and squeeze his shoulder. Cameron flinched a little. Sebastian just turned and stepped away. He went down the hall, and Jonathan walked over to be closer to Cameron.

His brother was still wincing. He was rubbing his shoulder, making a face, but he brightened when Jonathan reached him and offered him a smile. "Good job, Cam," he chirped, very softly. Cameron beamed again. Looked back down to rub his shoulder more. Jonathan's eyes flickered there, and then back up to him. He offered: "We can put a heating pad on it." Cameron perked, looking over at him with a bit of confusion. He nodded to his shoulder. "A heating pad— I think we have one, and it'll probably help more than ice will. It'll be less uncomfortable." He smiled more. "We can put it on tonight. When we're done practicing."

"No."

Jonathan frowned. "What? What do you—?"

"I'm not…" Cameron looked away, actively avoiding his gaze. "I'm not gonna be here tonight," he murmured. "I'm…" He didn't finish. He didn't need to. Jonathan's eyes flickered down the hall to where their father had left. To go make a call.

"…Oh," Jonathan mumbled. It was all he could say.

"Yeah." Cameron was just as silent. And apparently, that was all  _he_ had to say.

Silence wedged itself between them. Uncomfortable, resigned silence. That had never been there before.

"You know...we could…risk it…" Jonathan whispered. Neither of them were looking at the other. "I've been thinking...maybe…it won't work out that way, maybe…with  _us,_ we can make it  _work,_ we can stick together, and—"

"No." Just as flat. Just as soft. Just as empty.

He flinched. His hands started to wring. "Cam…Cam, I don't want—"

"You  _twin swore."_ Cameron was staring ahead at absolutely nothing.

Jonathan realized his eyes were burning. He looked away. Choked back the lump that was in his throat. He opened his mouth, like he was going to speak.

But he couldn't.

He didn't know what to say.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Jonathan plodded up the steps, weary and exhausted. He wanted to sleep. He slept a little, the night before…he'd waited up for Cameron. He was going to sleep next to him like he always did. By this point, he was fairly certain it was just as much for him as it was for Cameron. But this morning, once he'd settled Cameron down and made sure he was okay, he'd gone downstairs. He wanted to make sure everything was good, for Cameron. He cleaned. He did the laundry, because he wasn't too sure Cameron even  _had_ clean clothes to wear when he woke up again. He made a mental note to remember he had to wash Cameron's sheets and blankets, too, when he got up. But for now, he was making sure everything else was okay.

It was a toss-up on when Cameron was going to wake up. Sometimes he only slept for a few hours, sometimes he woke up and it was nighttime, and then his entire sleeping schedule was thrown off. Jonathan guessed it just depended. But it got to be around eleven, and Jonathan decided he could make him something to eat just in case. He made him a sandwich and put some potato chips on the side of it. He had to fumble with the plastic wrap, and try to not let it stick to itself, which was an ordeal. But he wrapped it up, to make sure that whenever Cameron decided he wanted to eat, it would still be fresh for him. Cameron's favorite was peanut butter and jelly. Jonathan was just glad they weren't out.

He made it, and he made sure it was perfect. Then he started up the steps to their room. He didn't think about knocking. He'd just go in and set the plate down on the bedside table and slip right back out, so Cam could keep sleeping, and just have it for when he was awake. He opened the door and started to sneak inside. When he stopped short, straightening up as his eyes went wide. His brother was awake, which was surprising in itself, because even when he only slept a handful of hours, it was at  _least_ until noon. But that wasn't what got Jonathan stopping short. It was the fact that Cameron was changing. Apparently he'd had a set of clean clothes. He'd changed into his jeans already. He was currently changing into a clean shirt.

He was just pulling off his dirty ones when Jonathan opened the door. He looked up quickly when he realized he was being intruded on. He looked startled. But Jonathan wasn't looking at his face. He was looking at his chest. It looked  _awful._ Jonathan hadn't even realized how much Cameron had stopped eating…but he could see the faint outlines of his ribs, even from where he stood. However, the gaunt frame wasn't even the worst part to see. It was all the  _bruises_ that were littered there. His sides were mottled, up and down, with blacks and blues and purples. And reds, to show that there were some fresh ones there to join the cluster. They were painful just to look at…just to  _imagine_ how much it must hurt, even just to take in a simple breath, how much it would sting, was sickening.

There were other marks, too. Irritated, red splotches. Bitemarks. On the very top of his shoulder, arching over to go down his back, were scratches. Staring at all of it at once snatched the air right out of Jonathan's lungs. He went numb. He couldn't do anything but stare in abject horror. He was surprised he didn't drop the plate. He had known that Cameron was hurt. He knew he came home limping sometimes, and sometimes he moved his arms a little stiffly, or winced from seemingly nothing at all. But he had  _no_ idea it was  _this_ bad. With all this injuries, he was shocked Cameron was even standing. That he wasn't constantly crying. Most of his bruises looked  _older._ How long had it been like this?

"Cam…" Cameron closed his eyes tightly. His face was bright red, and he rushed to grab his other shirt and yank it over his head. He flinched hard when he did, and now Jonathan knew why. He started forward, that horror still everywhere on his face. "Cameron, are you—"

"I'm  _fine,"_ he rushed, his voice small. "…I'm fine." He wasn't looking at him. Maybe he  _couldn't_.

"No you're  _not,_ Cameron, you're—"

He turned away. His arms were folded up to his chest tightly. Like he was trying to curl away from it all. His objection was small, and fast. It was blurted out, and Jonathan knew what it was the very second he started to speak, just because it had been thrown back at him so often. But the fact he'd heard it so often didn't make it any less infuriating when he got it again. In fact, it made it  _worse._ "You twin swore," Cameron mumbled. Jonathan's expression shifted, beginning to draw back more defensively, and angrily, instead. Cameron wasn't looking at him, to see. "You twin swore to me," he just repeated. "So stop."

"Can  _you_ stop!?" Jonathan blurted out. Cameron curled up a little more when the snap, and he felt bad. But the desperation he was feeling by this point overrode anything else he might be feeling. "Stop  _throwing_  that back in my face! If I'd have known that it would get this bad, if I'd have known you'd be getting hurt like this, I  _never would have—"_

"But you  _did_ ," Cameron whispered.

"I wish I hadn't," Jonathan pressed. "I wish I—"

"Wishing doesn't work." Every objection was just as soft, yet just as empty, at the same time.

Jonathan had to scramble to find his words. "Cameron,  _please,_ just—"

"No."

"You don't even  _know_ what I was going to say!" Jonathan objected.

"I don't want to. I don't want to hear it. I don't want that plate— I'm not hungry."

He stared at him with absolutely no hope in his eyes. He was just sad, and upset, and horribly lost on what he was supposed to do. Cameron still wasn't looking at him. He was looking off to the side, down at the ground. His lips were trembling, and he wasn't blinking because there was too much water in his eyes for him to blink. Jonathan could see the awkward way he was standing, and now he knew why. Now he knew all the injuries he was compensating for. And that was just the ones he  _saw._ He looked at his brother's thin frame. His tear-filled eyes that had circles so black underneath them it looked like they were bruised. How pale he was, how shaky. How defeated and broken and sad he was.

Jonathan was crying. Unlike Cameron, he didn't feel like hiding it. Not anymore.

The confession slipped out of his mouth before he could even really realize it. "But I miss you."

The three words were simple. But they got Cameron to break. They got him to close his eyes and duck his head, and hug himself as his shoulders started to shake with sobs he couldn't keep back anymore. He hid his face and started crying. Jonathan just stood there and stared at him, at a loss for what to do.  _Nothing_ he did, mattered. He was realizing that more and more. He  _knew_ the only thing standing in front of him was himself. His obligation he felt to Cameron…the fear of them being torn apart. He knew it was small, in comparison to everything. In comparison to how quiet and sad his brother was nowadays, and how different he just looked in general. How he woke up at night because he heard Cameron crying to himself, how his brother got sick and would go days just vomiting over and over again. How he was beaten and bloody. There was a solution to that— there had to be  _at least_ a solution to all of  _this._ And Jonathan knew the only thing standing in front of it…was himself. And Cameron.

He knew it shouldn't be as big. It shouldn't be as big a barrier. Not in comparison.

But somehow it was.

Somehow it was.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

It was dark. Jonathan was awake. It was a rare night where Cameron was actually home. But it was  _because_ he was home that Jonathan couldn't sleep, for once. He laid there and stared up at the ceiling. Listening as, every five seconds, he heard a tiny sniff, or a hitching gasp. Listening to his brother crying to himself. There was a lump in his throat, as he listened to it all. It was difficult to breathe. For a very long time, he just listened in silence. But then he pushed himself up. He slipped out of bed and went over instead to cross the room and sit down on the end of Cameron's bed.

The second he did, Cameron was curling up just a little bit more. He was ducking his head, like he was trying to hide himself. But he couldn't hide from Jonathan. Ever. "Cameron," he murmured. He did nothing. Jonathan wilted. "Cameron…you can talk to me," he tried. "Did something happen? Was it…something Dad did?" Still, nothing. He just kept crying, just trying more to hide it, now. He wilted and reached over, to put his hand over on his leg. He squeezed comfortingly and whispered: "Cameron…it's okay…what's wrong? You can tell me." He may as well have been talking to a wall.

His hopes dropped. Disappointment squeezed his heart when he got nothing in return. He sat there for a couple more seconds, debating. His expression was growing apprehensive, but he tried anyway. "Cam…Cam I think we should try telling," he whispered. "I think…I think it's better to risk something that  _might_ be bad than to keep doing this. I can't…I can't keep watching you hurt, like this, I can't do it anymore, and I  _know_ you don't want to anymore, either." He looked down, trying to fix his blankets just to have something else to do. He sniffed. "And maybe…you know, maybe we can  _do it,"_  he tried, struggling to sound brighter. "Maybe Sebastian is wrong— or…maybe kids get split up, but maybe  _we_ won't, Cam…maybe we can beat it, maybe we can stay together."

He was barely even whispering all of this, and with the fact that his throat was getting more and more choked, he was getting harder to understand. "'Cause we're not like anyone else, Cam. We're special…and we're a package deal, we can just…say  _no_ if they try and get us apart. Or…or we can run  _away,_ Cam, we could make it just the two of us— I  _know_ we could." He looked up desperately at his brother. He was just crying harder. Just curling up and ducking his head away more. He leaned a little closer. "We could make it  _work,_ Cameron, but we  _can't_ make it work if you keep shutting me out— if you keep threatening to not be my brother anymore if I do something."

He sniffed again, and his voice was weaker when he croaked: "I  _wanna_ help you, Cameron. I  _wanna help,_ but you won't  _let me._ That's not fair. I don't wanna lose you, Cameron. You're all I have. You're  _all_ I  _have_ …" He weakened and whispered: "But the longer this goes on…the more I lose you. I'm  _losing_ you…and I don't  _want to,_ what's the point of not telling anyone to keep you my brother if I lose you anyway?" He didn't get an answer. He didn't expect one. Cameron just kept crying. Jonathan closed his eyes and let out a slow breath. For a second he let his expression crumble, and he started to cry, too.

Before he opened them again and inhaled fast. Moved the blankets and crawled over Cameron to lay down. He turned over on his side and wrapped his arms around his little brother. He scooted as close as he could, and curled protectively around him. He moved and held his hand, putting his chin on his shoulder and his head on his. Cameron kept crying; at first, Jonathan holding him this way only caused him to cry harder. But he tried to tune it out. He knew he would stop crying…he knew he would stop shaking. He knew he would eventually calm down and he would hopefully fall asleep. So he just held him tightly and securely. He just intertwined their fingers and ran his thumb soothingly over the back of his hand.

Trying anything he could, except for something that would  _actually_ help.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

It happened during a practice. He hadn't been paying as much attention as he should have been.

Everything had been fine, when all of a sudden he was falling. Jonathan had tried to catch himself. Instinct had him throwing his arms out in the effort, but that was apparently the wrong thing to do. He had landed too hard on his right one. He'd  _heard_ the snap first. The pain came  _after._ Along with the horror when he'd looked down and seen the twisted, awkward angle his arm was now bent into. He'd broken it. Cameron had rushed to him first, to try and help. Sebastian had just hung back, looking horribly overwhelmed and inconvenienced at the new issue that was now presented to them.

Jonathan had been crying, but Cameron had rushed to him and immediately started to soothe him. He hugged him hard, avoiding his injured arm, and had become a fountain of promises. "You're okay, you're going to be okay. Dad's gonna fix you, he's gonna take you somewhere to get it fixed and it's gonna stop hurting really soon, Johnny, I promise. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry you got hurt, but it'll be better soon." Jonathan had reaped as much comfort as he possibly could from his brother. For once the shoe was on the other foot. At it had helped. Cameron had kept reassuring him, even as Sebastian got him to his feet and started to urge him outside for the car. He'd followed for as long as he could, faithfully vowing everything would be fine on the way.

A majority of it had helped. But the final thing he'd said hadn't helped at all.

"You'll be okay," Cameron had promised sweetly, smiling from ear to ear as Jonathan was herded outside. "You can go to the hospital. We have the money for it."

The words had stuck with Jonathan echoed with him the entire way there. He stopped crying as much. He reduced it down to just occasional sniffles, as he held it against his chest. Sebastian was stone-faced nearly the entire way. It wasn't until they started to park near the emergency room that he was going into the spiel Jonathan  _knew_ he would go into. "Not a word," he'd growled. Jonathan had just studied the floor of the car. "Not a  _single word,_ Jonathan, do you understand?  _Look_ at me." He had. He'd glared at him tearfully. But he did. Sebastian had glared right back.  _"Remember_ what I said would happen if you did."

Jonathan had stayed silent. He'd just scowled.

" _Say_  it," Sebastian had snapped.

It had been reluctant. But Jonathan had forced it out. "Not a word," he'd choked.

Now,  _those_ words were sticking with him, too. He was sitting on a bed in the ER, still holding his arm gingerly to his chest and sniffing every so often, when another wave of pain rolled out from nowhere and slammed into him. Sebastian was sitting at his side in silence. They weren't even looking at each other. It was tense and awkward, so Jonathan was almost relieved when the nurse came back into the room. She had led them there in the first place, but she had left to get something. Sure enough, she came back with a blood pressure cuff and a thermometer. And, of course, a very gentle smile. "Alrightie," she chirped. She put all her things down and pulled up a chair so she could be at Jonathan's height. She was smiling so much it was a wonder the grin stayed on her face, and didn't just keep stretching.

It reminded him of the way Cameron used to smile.

A fresh wave of tears stung his eyes.

The nurse wilted in sympathy, guessing wrong on what it was that had him so upset. "Aw, I'm sorry, hon," she murmured. "I bet that arm's hurtin' you real bad…but not to worry! We're gonna give you some pain medicine and we're gonna put that arm in a cast for ya and you're gonna be good as new, okay?" Jonathan sniffed and nodded. She brightened up again. "I've just gotta ask some questions first, okay?" He nodded again. He waited for her to start, but to his surprise, she turned and looked at Sebastian instead and asked: "Is it alright for Dad to step out of the room for a second?" Sebastian's eyes narrowed in a cross between confusion and suspicion. Her smile was unwavering. "It's hospital policy, sir, I'm sorry. But I promise it'll only take a few minutes! Then I'll call you right back in, if you'd like."

He hesitated. For a second, Jonathan wondered if he was going to refuse. His eyes flickered between his son and the nurse, and there were a couple beats of silence. Before he gave in, and dipped his head in tiny acknowledgement. He turned and looked at Jonathan, and gave him a smile as he reached over and patted his leg. Anyone else would look at the grin and think it was just a worried father comforting their child before they left. Jonathan's stomach flipped and he looked away when he caught the expertly-veiled warning. Sebastian turned and let, and then it was only them left together. The nurse smiled at him almost encouragingly. His eyes flickered to her badge. Her name was Toni.

"Alright, sweetie. Just a couple questions, and then we're gonna get that arm looked at, okay?" She glanced down at the clipboard she was holding now. Started with the most basic of questions. "What's your name?"

It came instinctually. "Cameron Black," he whispered.

"And how old are you, Cameron?"

"I'm…gonna be eleven…in June…"

She grinned. "Ooh, that's coming up, then, isn't it?" Jonathan just nodded, distracted Suddenly realizing just how long this entire thing had been going on. He had wished for it all to stop, on their  _tenth_ birthday. Now it was almost a year later. The line had been crossed ages ago…and yet it was  _still_ going on. When was it going to end? Was it  _ever?_ He was shaken out of his thoughts when she kept going. He roused in just enough time to catch her next question. "How did you break your arm, Cameron?" There was something different about the way she was looking at him, with this question. She was studying him carefully, and thoughtfully. There was a gentleness to her face, but it was…an encouraging kind of gentleness. A different kind. "Were you… _playing,_ were you  _running…?"_

"I was…doing magic," Jonathan answered. She tilted her head to the side. "I'm a magician."  _'This isn't magic! This isn't what we wanted to do!'_ He grimaced a little.

"A  _magician_ , huh?" she mused, and he hated the tone of voice she was using. "That's  _super_  cool! I wish  _I_  could do magic." He said nothing; he just looked away. She pursed her lips and got serious again. "So you were…doing magic?" she prompted. "So it was an accident?" He nodded once. "Nobody hurt you?" she pressed. His guard dropped a little. He looked at her strangely. She just smiled tenderly back. "It's okay, Cameron— nobody is angry. Nobody is  _accusing_ anybody of anything. I just want to make sure that this was just an accident. Are you  _sure_ it was an accident? Nobody…pushed you, or grabbed your arm…?"

He still just stared at her. Suddenly he was remembering the time Cameron had gone to the hospital. This was the exact line of questioning Jonathan had asked if he'd gotten, then. He'd said no. But here it was: she was asking if there was something wrong. If there was something he wanted to tell her. What would  _happen_ if he told her? Would she tell the doctors? Would they tell someone that could help them? Could they actually do something for them? His heartbeat was louder in his ears. He could hear his father's voice ringing in his ears, warning him to be silent. But what would happen if he told her everything? She looked so nice…she had such a nice smile, surely she wouldn't send them anywhere with ten kids and not enough food and dark basements? Surely she'd see that they needed to stick together— surely she wouldn't separate them! Right?

"Cameron?" He blinked a couple times. She was looking at him with a little more concern now. She leaned a little closer and tilted her head. "Here…let's ask a different question. It might help with the first one," she suggested. "Do you feel  _safe_ at home, Cameron?" His heart twisted at the inquiry. "Do you feel okay, when you're there? Do you feel…loved, and taken care of?" He remembered Cameron's chest, and how horrible it looked. How Sebastian had shoved him and smacked him when he had tried to take the phone from him so a couple months ago. All the blood in the shower. He felt numb. "Does anyone ever…hurt you, hit you, say mean things to you they shouldn't?"

"I…" He was fumbling for something to say. He remembered the way he had sat up all night while Cameron was at the hospital. Hoping against hope that a nurse would notice him and ask the right questions. He'd said it hadn't happened. But… _this_ woman was trying to ask those questions, wasn't she? What would she do if he told her? If he told her  _just a little._ All it would take would be telling her a  _fraction_ of it. He was sure just a  _fraction_ would be enough to horrify her into doing something. Into  _helping…_

"Cameron?" Toni murmured.

But…but…he thought of the houses filled with ten kids. The skipping around because nobody wanted them. Being separated from his brother…the only person in the world he  _wanted_ to be with. Cameron wouldn't be able to take being separated, either. He  _needed_ him. And Jonathan needed to take care of him. He wouldn't like being apart, and he certainly wouldn't like being apart from him in a dark cold house, with  _two_ bad parents instead of just one. Jonathan wouldn't be there to hold him and tell him it'd all be okay. Cameron wouldn't be there to smile and make a joke when everything seemed lost. They  _needed_ each other. They weren't  _right_ without the other one at their side.

If he told her…what if Sebastian was right? What if they were torn apart?

 _He_  was willing to take the risk.

And yet…he remembered Cameron's glare. His grumble: "You twin swore."

His sobbing that night that had only gotten worse when Jonathan brought up telling.

He couldn't get past it. He couldn't get his brother out of his head.

The nurse was still staring at him. Her concern was getting more and more apparent.

He blanched for just a moment more. Still struggling to latch onto something. Anything. Trying to decide. Until eventually, it came out. He made the choice without any thought at all. He still wasn't sure…any then suddenly, there it was. "No," he whispered. Toni nodded a little bit. The frown was staying on her face. Jonathan glanced down at his arm before he cleared his throat and went on. "No, it…it was an accident," he reassured. "I fell. I tried to catch myself, and it hurt and…I just broke it." He shook his head. "Nobody hurt me. Nobody…" The words were sticking a little in his throat. "Nobody ever hurts me," he managed. "My dad loves me."

Toni kept looking at him closely. She was silent for a few moments. Before she smiled just a little and nodded. "Okay." She wrote something down on her paper. She looked back up with a smile. "Alright, then, Cameron," she beamed. Jonathan's chest felt empty. "Let's get that arm fixed, alright?"

He nodded. Watched her wrap the cuff around his other arm. And tried not to feel as empty as he did when she started to tighten it.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Jonathan liked to keep track. When they were younger, he kept track of how many times they each played with their toys, so that it was 'equal' and 'fair.' He kept track of how many practices they'd had, and how many shows they'd done. Cameron always complained, but Jonathan had always just replied that he was the more organized twin. He  _liked_  to keep track of things. He liked to have everything in order and to be able to see everything there was to see. He liked knowing where everything was –  _when_ everything was – and knowing it was all correct because he'd double-checked. None of the things he'd kept track of before now really mattered, though. Not as much as this did.

He had a notebook, and every night he'd put a tally. Keeping the marks tiny…because he didn't know how many he'd have to cram onto one page. And if that would even be enough, because at this point he was starting to worry it wouldn't be. Every night Cameron was gone, Jonathan put a tally. He kept track of how many nights Sebastian had come home alone. How many mornings Cameron came back, sometimes perfectly happy, sometimes a little upset, sometimes hurt, sometimes sad, sometimes…just nothing at all. He kept the notebook under his pillow. Some part of him wished he was smarter, and could figure out more. So he could write names of the people that took his brother away from him for the night, or what they looked like, so he could maybe…well, he didn't even know.

He didn't know what else to do. He didn't even really know why he was making the tallies in the first place; he didn't know what they did. But he was. And he'd put another one the night before. He was averse to counting them all up, by this point. He'd started to try. But once the count got past one hundred, he couldn't anymore. He felt too sick. He just made the new tally and shoved the notebook away, and tried to actually get some sleep for once. It was always harder to do on nights Cameron was gone for some reason, but that night he actually fell asleep. Or he must have, anyway. One second he was laying on his back staring up at the ceiling, and the next his eyes were opening and he was curled up on his side, fuzzy with sleep he hadn't realized he'd been getting.

He woke up to a dull thud. For a second he was too tired and confused to do anything but lay there, but once the dots connected, he inhaled sharply and pushed himself up. The room was still pretty dark— too dark to see all that well in. But he heard the door close and he saw someone walk in. He knew it was Cameron, and, like always, he allowed himself the tiniest sense of almost-happiness, just at the sheer fact his brother had made it home. Because he knew there was never any kind of guarantee. It was his worst nightmare, to not have him walk through that door. The situation was awful, but he always let himself feel this tiny success, at least with this.

Usually Cameron just went straight to his bed. He was home earlier than usual— it usually wasn't still this dark. And usually he came home tired, so that was just his first impulse. Jonathan was tempted to just lie back down and go to sleep again. He started to. But stopped at a tiny hiss. "Johnny." He froze, frowning just a little bit. He sat back up all the way again and frowned, narrowing his eyes against the dark to try and see his brother better, reaching out with his other arm to feel blindly for the lamp that was on his bedside table. He could see Cameron making his way over to  _his_ bed instead. But there was something odd about the way he was moving. And there was something weird about his voice when he repeated his hiss, a little louder this time.  _"Johnny!"_

"What?" he hissed back, finally finding the lamp and reaching underneath for the switch.

"'re you awake?" Cameron demanded, rounding over to his side of the bed.

Jonathan went still for a second, sitting in the dark for just a few moments and staring at nothing in particular. There was a rock in his stomach. No— there were about  _twenty_  of them. Suddenly dropped all at once, and almost making him buckle, even though he was just sitting in bed. Suddenly he realized he didn't want to turn on the light. He wanted to stay in the dark— he wanted  _all of this_ …to stay in the dark. He didn't want to see, he didn't want to face whatever this was, he just wanted to go back to sleep. He wanted to go back to the time where this wasn't even a thought of something that could be happening— where their biggest problem was making time to practice because they just wanted to play together instead. He didn't want this. He didn't  _want this._ So he almost took his arm back. Almost didn't turn on the light.

The hesitation really only lasted for a couple seconds.

Before he told himself he didn't have a choice – he  _didn't_  have a choice, in  _any_ of this – and flicked the light on. It didn't offer very much light, but it offered enough. Jonathan turned and looked at his brother, and he could literally feel his heart fall. Cameron was standing at the side of his bed, but he was leaned over a little, so that a hand could brace himself up on the mattress. And it  _looked_ like he was going to fall. His eyes were halfway open and dulled over. He was swaying on his feet, like he couldn't control where his weight went. Just standing there, he was staggering, off-balance. If he wasn't holding to the bed, he'd probably fall. His hair was all kinds of messed up, like it always was. His clothes were wrinkled and messed up, too. Usually he stopped long enough to fix those before he came back home.

Jonathan was automatically reaching out to grab his arms. Cameron hardly reacted when he did. "What's wrong? What happened?" he demanded. Cameron didn't reply instantly, so he pressed harder. "Cameron,  _what happened,_ why are you like this? Why—?" Cameron suddenly sagged forward, to collapse on the bed across his legs. Jonathan stiffened and horror flooded over him as he looked down at his brother. For a moment he thought something was so wrong that he'd passed out, that he'd lost consciousness and something was going even more wrong, that he was hurt or bleeding or—

But after a second Cameron shifted and flipped awkwardly. He rolled onto his back and started to crawl so he could get his head by Jonathan's and lay down beside him. He was clumsy and fumbling; Jonathan had to scoot away, flinching when Cameron accidentally smacked and kicked him a couple times in the process. Finally his little brother laid down with a heavy sigh. Jonathan stayed sitting up, looking at him in shock and confusion. Cameron made a move like he was going to turn over on his side and look at him. But he couldn't manage it, because after the tiny effort, he just let his head loll to the side to him. His eyes were still only halfway open. He was smiling an odd, faraway kind of smile. "Nnnnothin'," he hummed, a very belated response. Jonathan's forehead creased in disbelief immediately. Cameron just dragged a hand out and grabbed his arm, trying to tug him in for a hug. "'s w'nna hug you…" he mumbled.

Jonathan grumbled when Cameron yanked him down. The second he was, though, it was the final nail in the coffin. He rushed to wiggle out of his grip; Cameron squeaked when Jonathan shoved him away a little too hard. But he wasn't in the mood to care. He glared at him, absolutely furious. "Cameron, you  _reek_ like alcohol!" Cameron let his arms flop back against his chest and curl closer there. He snorted and giggled, like he found Jonathan's building rage hilarious. Jonathan shifted, getting up on his knees and leaning over him more.  _"Why_ do you smell like alcohol— did you  _have_ some? Are you  _drunk?"_ The questions were useless, but they tumbled out anyway. His mind was too blank to stop them. Cameron started laughing harder. Jonathan just got angrier.  _"Cameron."_

"Shhhh!" He had no idea how Cameron's face could look so happy but so numb at the same time. He lifted a finger and waved his hand vaguely in Jonathan's direction, like he wanted to put it up against his lips. He couldn't make it that far; his arm just flopped down halfway. "You talk s'  _loud._ 'u're t'  _loud_." He held out this last word for far too many syllables, and the longer those syllables went on, the more he started to giggle until he was just laughing again. Jonathan stuck his tongue in his cheek, struggling to stay patient. "'u're too  _loud,_ 'nd I jus' w'nna  _hug,_ I jus' wan' you t' hug me…I w'nna hug you, 'nd I don't w'nna let go, 'nd—"

"What. Happened?" he seethed. Cameron sighed, closing his eyes. Jonathan reached down and shoved him hard into the mattress. Cameron's eyes snapped open again and he whined in pain. Jonathan just glared at him. "Tell me what  _happened!"_ he snapped. "What did you  _do,_ Cameron!?"

"I jus'…" Cameron winced and sighed. He shook his head, but in an awkward way, like his neck was made of rubber. "He jus'…started drinkin'…somethin' 'nd and he asked if I want'd to try it too, 'nd I said…'nd I said  _yes_ , he jus'…I didn' have t' much, I…" Jonathan was scowling. But it was nothing compared to the scowl that came over his face when Cameron kept rambling. "'nd then…but then he got…somethin' else, I didn'…he ask'd 'f I knew what it was 'nd and I didn', he…asked if I wanted t' try it, I—"

"What?" Jonathan demanded. Cameron didn't reply. He looked asleep. He scowled and shoved him again, harder this time. And again, Cameron whined.  _"What,_ Cameron!?  _What was it!?"_

"I forgo' th' name," Cameron breathed, his head lolling again.

Jonathan glared and shoved him a third time, the hardest yet. "What  _was it!?"_ he yelled in his face.

"It was…it was jus'…a shot…" Jonathan's eyes flew wide. He forgot how to breathe. Cameron's eyes were closed, so he didn't see. "Jus' a…shot of…somethin', it…hurt f'r…a secon' but…then…then it felt… _really_ good, I felt… _really good,_ I  _still_ feel really good, it's…s'  _good,_ I feel great…you…hav'  _no_ idea…"

Jonathan stared at him in open horror. Cameron kept wearing that hardly-there grin. "Cam—" He ducked his head and closed his eyes. When he opened them, he looked down at his brother's chest. His breathing was slow. Jonathan closed his eyes again, taking that moment to feel overwhelmed again. His eyes were starting to burn. He opened them back up and looked hard at his brother. Trying to look angry instead of horribly upset. "Cameron, you…" His voice was chipped and frayed. He tried to make it firmer, but it just cracked more. "Cameron, you can't  _do_ that, why did you do that— that's  _bad!_ This is bad, this is really,  _really_ bad!" His lips were trembling. "Why did you take it, Cameron, why did you take it!?"

Cameron made a face. "I can't say  _no…"_ he scoffed, like the suggestion was stupid.

"Yes you  _can, Cameron, you just don't let yourself!"_ Jonathan yelled.

Cameron made another face, like someone would make when they were just trying to sleep and were being mildly irritated by their neighbor. He made another 'shhhh' noise, reaching out with no coordination whatsoever to grab onto his shoulders. It only took him a couple tries to get his grip, and it took a couple  _more_  tries for him to tug Jonathan down towards him. "Shhhh— guesswhat?" Jonathan grimaced, propping himself up awkwardly so he wouldn't be yanked right into him. He was trying not to flinch so obviously away from his brother. But the smell of alcohol was overpowering. "Guesswhat, guesswhat?" he demanded. "OhmyGod, I said  _guesswhat!"_

" _What,_ Cameron?" he seethed through clenched teeth.

He beamed tiredly. "Th're was a  _dog,"_ he whispered happily. Jonathan did a double-take. Cameron tried to tug him closer. "Th're was a  _dog,_ it was…a…cute…I think it w's…a German…Shephard…thing. It liked me— I got to play with a  _dog!"_ He sounded over the moon. "I got to play with a dog…a  _dog…!_ It wa' s' cute…'ve always…want'd a dog…" His smile dropped a little when he tried tugging Jonathan down to him again, and Jonathan resisted. He frowned and grumbled: "C'moooon… _hug_  meeee…"

Jonathan kept holding himself up against the mattress, so he could push back on all of Cameron's efforts to bring him closer. He was back to glaring at him again. "No," he snapped. Bleary sorrow crowded his brother's expression. "I'm not hugging you, Cameron. I'm  _mad_ at you." Cameron tried to pull him harder, but Jonathan drew the line and grabbed his wrists, ripping them away. Cameron let out a sorrowful squeak, but didn't try again. "I'm  _not_ going to hug you," Jonathan spat. "I'm not going to deal with you, not like this— I can't deal with this. I don't want to deal with this."

Cameron was trying to pry his eyes open again enough to see him. He looked disoriented and confused…like he wasn't even listening. Jonathan's eyes started to blur with tears. He shook his head fast, and cringed when he leaned back and forced out in a choke: "Get out." Cameron stirred just a little. He cracked open his eyes and let his head fall again to look at him. He was foggy, and out of it. Drunk, and on… _something_. Not his brother. Jonathan started crying more; his voice started to clog with held-back tears. "Get out of my bed, I don't want you here, I don't want to see you right now."

Cameron wilted. He started to try and asked: "Wwww— what'd I—?"

"Get out, Cameron. Go away," he growled, his voice tighter.

Cameron sat up. It took much more effort than it should have; he swayed and choked, and once he finally got up he looked at his brother with bleary confusion and sorrow. He started to reach out for his shoulder. "Johnny…" Jonathan tried to shrug him off. He just tried to grab him harder.  _"Johnny,_ wha's wrong…?" Jonathan tried to knock his arms aside. Cameron tried grabbing his other arm, tried tugging him closer. "C'monnn…gimmie a hug, Johnny, I wan' a hug, I—"

Jonathan kept trying to shrug him off. "Cameron…" Cameron just kept mumbling and grabbing for him. "Cameron." He refused to stop, Jonathan was gritting his teeth. "Cameron!" He was objecting, begging for a hug, insisting he was okay, telling him to stop being mean— eventually Jonathan tore it and grabbed his wrists again, ripping them off of him and throwing them back as hard as he could. Cameron's whine of pain and disappointment was lost, when Jonathan started yelling at him.

"I don't want to hug you!" he yelled. "I don't  _want_ to hug you! I don't want to hug you after you come home from doing something I  _always_ tell you  _not_ to do! I don't want to hug you when you're drinking, when we shouldn't even be  _doing_ that for another  _ten years!_ I don't want to hug you when you take… _shots_ from strangers and don't understand how  _awful_ that is! I don't want to hug you when you keep doing all of this for Dad! You  _only_ care about Dad, that's  _all_ you care about! You don't care about me, so why should I hug you!?"

Cameron was swaying, fighting just to stay upright. "I…" He looked horribly confused. "I… _do_ care...'bout—"

"No you don't!" Jonathan snapped. "You  _don't_  care about me, Cameron! You  _don't!_  Otherwise you would  _see_ how upset I am! How upset  _you_ make me!" Cameron deflated. He didn't seem like he understood at all. But Jonathan couldn't stop. He was crying now. Gasping hard between every sentence and snapping it all out. "Can't you see how  _upset_ I am,  _all_ the time!? How upset  _you_ make me!? How do you think it feels  _every night, knowing_ that something  _horrible_ could be happening to you—  _is_ happening to you!? How do you think it feels waiting for hours, not able to sleep, because I'm just wondering if you're hurt or in pain or if someone is taking you for good, or  _killing_ you!?"

Cameron's head started to dip. Jonathan lashed out and grabbed his shoulders, shaking him. He meant to do it just enough to get his attention back. But even when Cameron opened his eyes again and looked at him, Jonathan kept shaking him, only getting rougher. Shaking him harder and harder, probably making his teeth rattle. "Do you  _care_ about me when you don't even warn me you're not coming home with me!? When you keep me waiting for hours and hours, watching the sun come up because I'm too scared of what might happen if I sleep!?" His fingers dug into his shoulders. Cameron was trying to fight him, but he just shook him harder. "Do you care about me when you  _force me_ to see you like this!? To see you upset and exhausted and— and  _sick_ and in  _pain!?_ When you give me no choice but to sit with you even though you  _know_ I hate this!? When you  _make me_ tell you it's going to be okay when I don't even know whether or not it's going to be okay!?  _Knowing_ you'll just take all my comfort and throw it out the window two nights from now when you go out  _again!?_

"I could have told that nurse! Back when I hurt myself, I could have told the nurse everything and she would have done something, I know she would have!" he snapped. "But I  _didn't!_ And you know  _why!?_ It's because of  _you!"_ He was  _furious,_ now. Yelling in his face and glaring at him with a sudden surge of anger so strong it surprised even him. But now it was all spilling out. He couldn't stop it. "But all I could think of was  _you!_ Throwing that  _stupid_  swear back in my face, and how terrified I am of losing you— I'm so terrified of losing you that I didn't say anything! I could  _always_  say  _anything_ , I could run out of here right now screaming, and I  _want to,_ but  _you_ don't let me! You're  _always_ in my head, telling me  _not to!_ You're  _always_ holding me back, and you  _know it! You know it and you don't_ stop! Even when you know how much I want you to!"

Cameron looked half-asleep.

"You don't care, Cameron!" Jonathan was crying by now. He felt the tears track down his cheeks, but he just kept hold of him, shaking and jerking him every so often. "When you make me do this— you don't care! You don't care that nine times out of ten you're gone, now!" His lips were shaking and trembling. "You told me I couldn't tell anyone because then you wouldn't be my brother anymore! But you're  _not_ my brother anymore! You're  _already_ not, I don't  _recognize_ you Cameron! You're tired all the time, you don't eat, you don't smile as much, you're sadder, you're— and now you're…taking things you  _shouldn't_ be taking! When is it going to end!?  _How_ is it going to end, how long are you going to do this to me!? You're  _not_ just doing this to yourself, Cameron, you're doing it to  _me, too!_ So  _don't_ tell me you care about me, Cam!" He shook him again, violently. "Don't tell me you care about me!  _Don't!"_

Cameron only stared at him with a sickened, confused look. Jonathan's expression started to crumble, and before he could think it over, he pushed Cameron again. He threw him backwards, as hard as he could manage; he was shoved back into the mattress and pillows, falling heavily on his side. With all the stuff that was in his system, he was stuck there for a second, unable to function enough just to push himself up. He tried, but it was a struggle. Jonathan sniffed and scowled, looking at him with pain and sorrow and anger. Too many things for a boy as young as him to have.

"Get out," he repeated, quieter. But not softer, by any means. Cameron looked at him and it took everything inside of Jonathan to keep his glare where it was, with the look on his brother's face. "Get out of my bed, go to yours," he rasped. "I don't want to see you, I don't want to see you like this— I don't want to see you at all. I don't want to see you sitting in the hole you dug for yourself." Cameron looked up quickly, taking this moment to actually realize what was going on and what was being said. The look on his brother's face was heartbreaking. He'd finally managed to sit up, by now. Jonathan hesitated. Before he repeated softly: "Go back to your own bed. Get out of mine."

Cameron looked like he was a deer in headlights. "I…" His eyes were tearing up. His lips trembled, he started to reach for him again. "Johnny…"

He tried to bat his hands away like he had before. His voice was more strained when he tried: "Cameron, stop— I don't— I don't want—"

"I jus' wan' you!" Cameron started sobbing. Something in him snapped and he started crying hard, and loud. Brokenhearted, horrible sobs ripped out of his chest as tears started to rush down his face. He hung his head and hid his face, muffling his sobs just a little bit, but it didn't matter. They were so loud in the first place that it made little to no difference. They were still loud. They still took Jonathan's breath away, still punched him in the gut. "I jus' wan' you, I jus' wan' you t' hold me, I jus' wan' you t' hug me!" Jonathan's mouth ran dry. He started crying harder when Cameron slurred on. "I jus' wan' you t' hug me, I wan' you to hug me, please hug me! Please hug me!" He was hyperventilating. Gasping and crying and choking. _"Please hug me, I jus' wan' you t' hug me, please hug me please hold me! Please hold me, please!"_

Jonathan's chest was on fire. He could hardly see anything through all his tears. He wanted to cry. He wanted to scream, he wanted to hit, he wanted to do  _something._ Something other than just sit here and continue watching everything fall apart like he was now. He felt hopeless. He felt angry. He felt confused. Frustrated at himself for letting this continue but furious because he knew there wasn't another option. Or…there  _was_ another option, he was just too cowardly to take it. He didn't know what would happen if he did. He didn't know whether or not he would be able to keep Cameron. If Cameron would want  _him._ Was that a good enough reason to not do anything? Because he was scared? Looking at his brother now, how ruined he was and how disoriented, he wasn't sure. He didn't know.

Jonathan closed his eyes and found himself beginning to sob silently to himself. Breaking down right along with Cameron. Crying with him for a few moments just because he didn't know what else he was supposed to do. He sniffed and wiped his eyes. He shook his head. He hesitated for a couple more moments, before he caved. He sat back down and reached over. He grabbed Cameron's shoulders again, but much gentler this time. He wound his arms around him and leaned them both back into the pillows. Cameron was still crying just as hard. And he kept crying, even when Jonathan arranged him so that he could lay against him, and he could hold him the way he always did. Ignoring the stench of alcohol to the best of his abilities.

Cameron was shaking. Jonathan turned him on his side so he could tuck his head into his shoulder. He still kept crying, but at least this way his crying was a little more muffled. Jonathan closed his eyes and laced his arms around him entirely, pulling him even closer. "Shhh…shhh, you're okay, Cam…" He started to run a hand through his brother's hair, reverting back to all the comforting measures he usually did. Unwilling, but unable to do anything else. This was his job. He had to take care of Cameron. No matter how much it hurt. Because Cameron was hurting, too. He could practically feel how much his brother was hurting, when he rushed to hold back to him tightly. Surprisingly so, for his state.

Cameron clung to him desperately, still sobbing hard. Upset, scared, abandoned, lonely. Everything that he didn't deserve to feel, and never  _had_ felt, before now. Jonathan just tried to hug him harder, like he could hold together all the pieces if he did. He hugged him close and kept shushing him, kept soothing him and running his hand through his hair. "You're okay, Cam…I've got you…you're alright…" He paused, brushing his bangs back and giving his forehead a tender kiss. Cameron's crying started to ease. He started to exhaust himself, and quiet down, simply because there wasn't anything left in him to keep him crying.

His sobs began to stutter and ease. He began to shake less. The tension ran out of his body and he melted, into Jonathan and into the mattress, too. He stopped gasping. His breathing began to grow slower, and deeper. Jonathan tucked him closer. Shifted to pull the blankets up to cover both of them, and made sure his head was on the pillow comfortably. Jonathan was exhausted. He just wanted to fall back asleep and forget this was happening. Nowadays, his favorite thing to  _do_  was sleep, just because he wasn't having to deal with all of this if he was unconscious.

But he couldn't. He couldn't fall asleep because he had to watch Cameron. He had to make sure he was okay, from whatever it was he had been given. Jonathan held him close, trying to block out the smell of alcohol. He never turned the lamp back off. He kept it on, so he could still see his brother. So he could watch his chest and make sure that it moved steadily throughout the night. So he could make sure that he was okay.

Like he always did.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you like this chapter! (more than I do...) And if you do like it, I would love to hear from you in a comment, they make the whole 'Let's-Type-Thirty-Pages-At-Once-For-No-Reason-Instead-Of-Schoolwork' thing worth it <3 
> 
> This story is only going to be about five or six chapters. And we're getting to the actual good part, now! I have a lot planned and I'm excited to pull it off. I hope you all will like it too!

It was cold. But he didn't want to go inside. So here he stood, bundled in his winter coat. It had been snowing all day today, but the sky had finally cleared tonight. Which was a good thing. That way you could see the colors that were dancing across the stars. Jonathan had always heard about the northern lights, but he hadn't been able to see them, yet. People had that on their bucket lists. He guessed now he could cross it off of  _his_. But he had to admit, standing there and staring up at it…it wasn't really all that special. It was pretty to look at but…what were you supposed to do after a couple minutes? Then you just stood there and realized…you put so much stress on something so dumb. They were just colors.

He leaned against the wall, putting his head on his arms. He was tired. He was  _always_  tired. He couldn't remember the last good night's sleep he'd had. He wished he could lay down now…but he knew it wasn't an option. They were in the middle of a stupid show. Usually, he spent breaks like this with Cameron. But he was back at the house they'd rented. He hadn't felt good this morning…and he needed to be gone tonight, after the show. He'd sat this one out; Jonathan was all by himself. That was beginning to happen more and more, now…Cameron hardly  _ever_  did shows, anymore. It made him feel lonely. Sad. By himself.

"Shouldn't you be down there?"

Jonathan turned. A girl was standing in the entryway to the balcony. Her blue eyes were curious, and sparkling with a certain kind of eagerness he usually saw in people that came to shows. Already, he was kicking himself for not closing the door and drawing the curtain. He had no idea how she'd gotten here, but he wasn't in the mood to pretend to be happy. He just wanted to be by himself. He wanted to be angry, and upset. His voice came out much stiffer than it was supposed to. "No…they don't need me for this part." He turned away, silently hoping she would get the hint.

She did not. He heard her footsteps tread a little closer. "It's really pretty," she tried. He glanced at her again. He thought she would stop a few feet away, but she kept walking until she reached his shoulder. She was looking up at the sky, the wonder in her eyes growing more apparent. She was starting to grin…absent-mindedly, like she couldn't help it. Jonathan was unexpectedly struck with a horrible kind of sadness. The look she was wearing reminded him far too much of the look Cameron used to always have.

Her eyes flickered to him, and when she caught his own, her smile died. Her expression even wilted a little. "What's wrong?" He jerked, not realizing he'd worn his emotions so much on his sleeve. He turned away, but the damage was done. "Are you okay?" He didn't answer. He went back to studying the sky, even though he couldn't care less about it. He wondered if Cameron could see it. If he was even  _aware_  enough at the moment to remember and get up. It seemed like something he would love…

"You were great." He roused, when, again, she refused to let up. He looked at her with a bit of confusion, and she smiled wider. "In the show," she explained. "I came to see you…it was really great. It was… _magical,"_ she laughed. Jonathan didn't even crack a grin. "When will they need you again?"

It occurred to him that he didn't even know what time it was. He turned and craned his neck to see inside. He caught a glimpse of the clock. "Fifteen minutes. Give or take," he offered.

Her smile turned a little more into a smirk. "You don't seem too worried about it," she laughed.

"I'm not." The two words were flat. They wiped her smile away at once.

"How come?" she asked. He offered another one-shouldered shrug. She seemed thoughtful. He didn't like it. He was always looking at  _Cameron_ with concern.  _He_  didn't need to be studied like this. Especially by someone that didn't even know him. "Maybe…doing the same tricks over and over again can get pretty boring," she conceded after a second. Jonathan didn't confirm or deny the assumption. "But it was really fun to watch. And I'm sure the next half will be even greater."

"Yup. That's  _me,"_ Jonathan grumbled bitterly. She frowned again when he just looked down and began to trace his fingers over the stone. His eyes were narrowed a little. He grumbled under his breath: "The great… _Cameron Black."_ His brother's name was meant to come out derisive. But it came out more like a choked grumble. A noise someone would make if they were trying not to cry. He felt his throat get hotter, and he swallowed, to try and counteract the fact. He wanted her to leave him alone. He wanted to be by himself. But for some reason, this girl was bent on making conversation with him.

"So…what's your favorite trick that you do?" she prompted.

"Look, you seem nice, but I don't want to talk." He expected her to be upset. She wasn't. Her eyebrows just raised a bit. Almost like she was asking: 'Oh,  _really?'_  "I just want to be alone," he pressed.

"Nobody wants to be  _alone,"_ the girl objected. And there was something so odd and earnest about her voice that got Jonathan glancing her way, a little caught off-guard. "So. C'mon," she prompted, reaching out and nudging his shoulder. His throat got hotter. Cameron used to do that same thing to him all the time. Grin, and push him and prompt: 'C'mon, Johnny!' "Tell me your favorite trick!" she pleaded, when he kept staring at her, thinking too hard about this.

"I…" He shook his head and looked back down at his hands. "I don't have one."

"Not  _one?"_ He shook his head again. She pursed her lips. "Well,  _I_ know what  _my_ favorite trick of yours is. I like the one where you disappear," she declared. "I have no idea how you do it! I've been trying to work on getting things to disappear…" She reached back into her pocket, and produced a coin. Jonathan turned more towards her when she looked down at it very thoughtfully, trying to position her hands just right. "I can't…quite make it…" She dropped it, trying to get the trick to work. Jonathan watched in growing amusement as she made a flustered noise. "I can't get it to work," she puffed. His lips were twitching in a smile, and she threw him a glare. But one that was hiding a grin. "Don't make fun of me!"

"I'm not!" Jonathan laughed a little. "It was a good effort. But…here." He grabbed the coin from her. She was already beginning to smile again when he did, and her smile about tripled in size when in one deft, expert motion, he made it vanish into thin air. " _That's_  how you make something disappear," he chirped.

"Oh, whatever!" she exclaimed. "You make it look so easy!"

He just grinned and made it reappear. Throwing a little more drama into the motion. He held it out to her and she took it back. Her blue eyes were eager all over again. "You have to teach me!" His smile turned a bit more awkward. She took a step closer. "Please?" she begged.  _"Please_ teach me. I wanna know how to make something disappear, I've been trying to figure it out for ages! You can't be a  _magic_  hog!"

She was glaring at him in that teasing way again, and for some reason that same teasing mood was beginning to settle over him, too. He couldn't help it. He couldn't remember the last time someone had joked around with him. Cameron never did, anymore. He hadn't in ages. So, before he even really knew it himself, he was smirking and snapping back: "We only have fifteen minutes. With how  _terrible_ you were, that's not nearly enough time."

His heart almost hurt with how happy her resulting smirk made him. "Shut up," she snapped, and he laughed. She grabbed his wrist and spun him around, taking him over to the chairs that were in the corner. "I hope you're as good at teaching as you are being mean, because if you are, we'll only need  _five_ minutes." He sat down across from her. He smiled when she flashed him yet another mischievous smile. "Anyway, I thought you didn't care about getting back on time," she quipped.

Jonathan grinned even more. He felt so terribly relieved to finally be able to smile a real,  _actual_ smile. To have genuine laughter bubbling up underneath his words when he replied: "I don't."

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Usually, the second Jonathan saw Cameron again, the second he was hugging him, the second he was safe in bed and back at home and not hurt  _too_ horribly, he allowed himself relief. Not too much. Because he knew all of this was just going to happen again. But he felt a little relief simply because his brother was safe. Because he was here and nowhere else, and nothing bad was going to happen to him anymore because Jonathan was there to protect him now. Now, he  _didn't._ Even when Sebastian helped him through the door and Jonathan laid down with him, he didn't relax. Even then, his breathing didn't slow, and his heart didn't either. He still felt panicked. Because he knew the hurt wasn't over with.

The second Cameron was laying down, Jonathan was bundling him close. Sebastian turned and went out into the hall. The boy's eyes tracked him every step of the way, and when he was gone, he made it absolutely no secret what he was doing. He grabbed his brother's wrists and folded them up against his chest. Cameron tried to fight him. But he wasn't strong enough; he could only get out bleary mumbles. Jonathan pulled him as close to him as he possibly could. He was probably crushing his lungs. He didn't care. He just grimaced with the effort he put into squeezing him, pinning his arms between their chests and making sure it was impossible for him to wriggle away.

Jonathan's throat felt like there was an apple lodged in the middle of it. His eyes burned when Cameron whimpered and moved; it only made it worse when he knew how much he was struggling and trying, when really, the efforts were so feeble. "Ssssstoooop," he slurred. "Let go…" Jonathan narrowed his eyes and bit down on his lower lip. He just made sure to put more than enough pressure on his brother's arms. He could do whatever else he wanted— he could twist, he could kick, but Jonathan would  _not_ let his arms move. He  _wouldn't._ "Johnny—  _stop,_ let  _go_  'f me, you're…not…bein'…"

"You don't need it, Cam," Jonathan breathed out quickly, and desperately. Cameron kept trying to get away. Jonathan kept hugging him as hard as he could. "You don't need it, I'm not letting you take it." His brother started trying to thrash. Jonathan just cringed and held tighter. "Cameron,  _please,"_ he begged, He was trying to stay stern. But it was starting to feel impossible not to cry. Especially when Cameron began to sob. Pitiful, tiny little chokes and whimpers that tore Jonathan's heart to shreds. "You don't need it, Cam, you don't need it," he whispered desperately.

"I  _do,_ get  _off!"_ Cameron begged in broken cries.

Jonathan just shook his head. "No.  _No,_  Cam, I'm not letting you."

"I  _did_ it, I  _did_ it, now I get the shot!" Cameron objected.

"Not this morning," Jonathan whispered, his wide eyes flickering to the door. "Not today."

Cameron's crying was getting louder and more desperate. "Why do you hate me!?" Jonathan felt like he was going to throw up. He started to cry silently when Cameron only got louder. "Why d'you hate me, why don' you love me!?" Cameron's hands started to try and wriggle so that he could try and shove at his brother's chest. Jonathan relented that it was a much stronger effort. But it still wasn't enough. Cameron's crying was so severe, it sounded half-crazed. "You don't love me, why don't you love me!?"

"I  _do,_ I love you  _so_ much! It's  _because I_ love you that I won't let you have it!"

Cameron just kept repeating himself, sobbingly brokenly, and emptily. "You hate me, you don't love me, you hate me! You hate me!  _You hate me!"_

Jonathan gave up trying to reason with him. He just curled closer. When Sebastian came back in, he was clinging to Cameron, who was practically  _screaming_ at this point. "Hey!" He rushed the rest of the way in. Jonathan stiffened and clung to Cameron tighter, but he felt that horrible slap of despair when he felt Sebastian grab his shoulder and start prying them apart. "Get off of him! Leave your brother alone!" Jonathan tried as hard as he could to keep ahold of Cameron. But Sebastian was much stronger than him. He ripped the two of them apart, and ignored Jonathan's heartbroken cry when he did.

Jonathan's shoulder was aching. Cameron on the other hand, hardly reacted to it. He was pushed onto his back, and a tiny huff whooshed out of him. But he wasn't focusing on that. He'd forgotten about Jonathan entirely, it seemed. Jonathan's expression washed with desperation when he saw what his father was holding. "Don't!" he begged. Sebastian looked at him with blatant loathing. If Jonathan wasn't so panicked, he'd meet the stare with just as much rage. For now, all there was to see on his face was fear. Tears were blinking down his cheeks. "Don't give it to him! Don't give it to him this morning!" he pleaded. "You gave some to him  _yesterday_ morning _,_ he doesn't  _need_ more!"

" _Quiet,_ Jonathan," Sebastian snapped.

" _Don't give it to him!"_ Jonathan grabbed Cameron and tried to yank him closer. He was so lifeless, it was easy to pull him. His brother yelped in pain, but he ignored it.  _"It's horrible, and awful, and it makes him sick but you don't care, and—"_ He'd been scrabbling at his brother, not even paying attention to what their father was doing. So he was entirely unprepared for the smack across his face. It was delivered with such force, he was thrown away from his brother. He hit the bed heavily, with a choked-off whimper.

Sebastian was glowering at him. "Do you want to make me do something I'll  _regret,_ Jonathan?"

Jonathan opened his mouth. But he was distracted. His eyes went back to Cameron, and he realized his brother was ten times as distressed as he was before. His sobs were louder, faster, harder; tears were streaming down his face as he practically shook with every single one of his cries. The sheer sorrow and desolation that was in them took Jonathan's air away. The entire side of his face was stinging. But his tears were solely for his brother as he just stared at him numbly. As he stared at the sobbing, skinny, sick person that used to be so happy and used to smile so much. As he stared at what they'd been reduced to.

"Do you  _want_ your brother to be upset like this?" Sebastian hissed. Jonathan just kept staring numbly. "Then  _sit there, and shut up."_ He glared at him for a couple more seconds, before he turned back to Cameron, and his expression grew gentler. "Shh…I'm sorry, Cam…" Jonathan's heart twisted with sorrow and rage when he used  _his_ nickname. Cameron was still crying, but as Sebastian reached out and smoothed his hand over his forehead, his sobs began to stutter. "Jonathan doesn't understand, I'm sorry.

"But you did  _so well_ last night." Cameron sniffed, looking at him miserably. He couldn't actually move, to do so. His head just fell in that direction. Sebastian smiled against his sorrow and his frequent whimpers, and moved his hand to press affectionately against his cheek. "You did so well, they want you  _back again_ tonight." Cameron's whimpers got a little louder. Jonathan was looking between the two of them in horror. "I told them I would ask you of course," Jonathan knew it was an  _absolute lie,_ "but they loved you so much they said they'd be willing to pay  _double._ Do you know how  _much_  that would be, Cam?"

Cameron just kept crying, softer now. He probably wasn't even listening. He was just staring at what was in his dad's hands. Jonathan's heart plummeted when he knew that that was all he was thinking about. If he could  _even_  think, anymore. Sebastian made the adoration on his face even more noticeable.  _Fabricated_ adoration. "Do you think you could go back?" Again, Jonathan felt the horrible urge to get sick. It only got worse when Sebastian shifted ever so slightly, to take the things he was holding and move them a couple inches away from Cameron. Just a couple inches— and yet it was all that needed to be done.

Cameron's expression broke with desperation, and he nodded. Jonathan hung his head in defeat.

Sebastian's eyes lit up. "Good!  _Good_ , Cameron, you're so good— you're my clever little star…" Cameron's lips twitched up in a weak smile. "I think you've been good enough to get this. You've  _earned_ it." Jonathan could barely bring himself to face the relief that positively slammed over his brother's face when Sebastian set out all of what he was carrying. His brother smiled from ear to ear as Sebastian moved one of his arms up enough, and began to tie a tourniquet tight around his upper arm. Jonathan didn't speak. But he watched in disgust and sorrow as their father grabbed the syringe and began to draw up a dose for him.

Cameron forgot the name of it the very first night he'd had it; ever since then it wasn't like he was focused enough to find out. It took Jonathan ages to guess what it might be. Nobody was telling. Not even when Sebastian started to get it for Cameron, instead of letting Cameron go without it until he inevitably got passed to  _someone else_ who had it, or who would get it for him. He was pretty sure it was heroin. By now, Cameron was way more than addicted. He was so addicted Jonathan was almost certain he was doing this now  _just_ for the heroin and he'd forgotten  _all_ about the money. All he thought of was this…'reward.'

He watched the person who was supposed to be their father slide the needle into Cameron's arm. It was bruised from all the  _other_ times he'd been injected. It hurt just to look at. But Jonathan watched with a heavy heart as, practically the instant the whole dose was given, the pain and nausea and sorrow that had been all over his face was gone. He looked peaceful; his eyes slid closed and he smiled to himself as he sighed. Sebastian took the syringe back and gathered it all back up again. Cameron wasn't paying attention to him anymore, so his smile dropped when he stood and shot a glare at Jonathan. "You should be trying to make your brother  _happy,"_ he spat out. "All you do is make him worse."

Jonathan closed his eyes. He listened to Sebastian's footsteps fade away; only then, did he reopen them. He sat for what felt like ages, just looking at his brother. He seemed so happy. Like he was having the best dream ever. This was the only time he ever looked happy anymore. But it was  _bad_ for him. It was  _really_ bad for him.  _He_ knew that— Cameron didn't. Or he refused to acknowledge it. All Jonathan wanted was for Cameron to be happy. How could he do that if  _this_ was all that made him smile? How could they run away or get help, when that meant there would be no more doses, and Cameron would hate him? He didn't know who he  _was_ without Cameron. What would he do if he got help and Cameron cut him out of his life?

He was crying. Sniffling and biting on the inside of cheek to try and keep from sobbing, Jonathan crawled closer. He got underneath the covers and hugged him like he was a stuffed animal. He was certainly  _moving_ as much as a stuffed animal would. Usually he would turn towards him and throw his arms around him, too. Now he just laid there. Jonathan pressed his forehead against his. "What are we supposed to do?" he whimpered. "It's gotten too bad…we should have done something  _sooner,_ Cam, now it's too late, now it'll be too hard, now you'll hate me even more…"

Cameron didn't even open his eyes. That tiny, blissful smile stayed on his face. All he did was hum a little. Jonathan started to cry harder. "You used to trust me," he cried. "You used to trust that I knew better, you used to trust that I could take care of you…now you won't  _let me_ take care of you. You won't  _let me."_ He sniffled, shaking his head. "What did I do wrong? What am I  _doing_ wrong? Why do you  _need_ this to be happy, why am I not enough for you anymore? When did I stop being enough for you?"

None of his questions were answered. Cameron hummed again, but Jonathan didn't know what that was supposed to mean. He felt like he didn't know his brother at all anymore. Like he was a stranger, and he couldn't be comforted by the fact he was here anymore. But he tried. Jonathan tried as best he could, because he knew it was all he had. He just closed his eyes so tightly it may as well have been a cringe, ducking his head into Cameron's shoulder, and hugging to him as much as he could. Knowing that it was because of a terrible reason, but telling himself that at least Cameron was happy. For now, at least.

Which was far more than he could say about himself.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

She was already sitting there when he got back to the balcony. She was grinning from ear to ear, and he already knew the reason for her beam. Sure enough, the instant she saw him she was declaring: "Look! Look, watch!" Jonathan found himself smiling just a little as she held up her coin with a flourish, and, in one smooth motion, made it disappear. It was a little clumsy; he could see her shift the coin away, but it was so much better than it had been when he'd left. It was her eagerness alone that got him to grin. And the smug way she said: "Ha! You aren't the only one that can do magic!"

"I guess I'm not," Jonathan relented. He walked the last few strides it took to sit down in front of her. "You're a fast learner." He hesitated for a second before he offered more off-handedly: "Or you really just have nothing better to do than to practice a trick over and over again."

She laughed a little. But her smile was quick to weaken. Her eyebrows knitted together, and she tilted her head to the side, as though she was trying to look at him closer. "Are you okay?" He frowned. "You seemed happy on stage…you were smiling a lot…now…you seem…really tired. Like you could use…a really long nap." Jonathan said nothing. He looked down at his hands. She watched him a couple moments more. Before she prompted more gently: "It  _must_  be tiring…to pretend to be happy." His face fell. Her own smile came across sadder, when she offered quietly: " _I_  know how tiring it can be, anyway."

Jonathan wasn't sure what to say. He was silent for ages. Fully realizing for the first time, that he had spent all night so far smiling and performing and laughing, while his brother was probably lying in bed either still on whatever dose he'd been given this morning, or finally coming back around just to feel sick and sad and lonely. He glanced over his shoulder, towards where their house was – they'd rented a  _house,_ because that was how much  _money_ they had to  _waste_ now – and where he knew his brother was.

He didn't know what to say. So when he  _did_ speak, it was soft, and sad. "It is," he whispered.

She seemed to think for quite some time. Before she offered: "Do you want to talk about it?" His surprise must have leaked out too much on his face. "I'm a really good listener," she explained. "I don't know how good my advice is. But. I like to think it's  _alright_. Even  _if_  I don't…sometimes talking to someone helps. I think." She giggled a little, even though there wasn't all that much humor in her eyes. "I don't really have…anyone to talk to, myself. I've  _heard_ it helps."

He looked at her sorrowfully. The confession slipped out before he could stop it. "I don't have anyone to talk to, either." He realized with a pang of something close to panic that his eyes were burning. He looked away fast, hoping she hadn't seen. "I used to…have someone. I could tell him anything." His voice was getting thicker. The concern on her face was only getting worse. "He was my best friend…"

She wilted. "Did he…die?"

His chest hurt, when he thought of how sick his brother looked. How he never ate anymore. How Jonathan would wake up at night because he was holding Cameron in his arms and for no apparent reason at all, he was whimpering and gasping. "No," he croaked. Her shoulders drooped when she saw how worked up he was getting. "But…I'm really worried he's gonna die soon. And…I think I can do something to help him. But…I'm not sure I'll  _help._ I'm not sure I won't make it worse…and I don't want to hurt him more…"

She glanced down at her own hands, and the coin she was back to holding. She turned it over in her fingers a couple times. Before she leaned over so she could more or less force him to look at her. She tried to give him a smile that was more encouraging. "Well," she reasoned. "Looks like we can have no one to talk to, together." When he looked back at her, it was only with open doubt. He said nothing, and she sobered. She became more sympathetic. "Or…maybe you  _don't_ wanna talk about it," she guessed. His eyes flashed. She must have seen an answer, there. "Maybe you wanna talk about  _anything other_ than that."

Still, he was quiet. But still, she seemed to hear all there was to hear, regardless.

"Well, then that's good!" she exclaimed, her voice doing a 180 as she went back to cheerful. He perked as she scooted closer. "Because you've got  _tons_ more magic tricks to teach me. I am on a  _roll_  now, with that other one!" He smiled. Just a little. But it was enough for her. She scooted even closer, smiling wide. Started to ask about whether or not he could teach her one of the card tricks he had been doing for everyone on their way in. He felt bad that seeing her smile, hearing her eager tone of voice, was so reassuring to him. So familiar. He felt bad he was so easily swayed into moving on.

He was selfish. To take comfort in the fact this girl was so much like Cameron, and for just a second he could have fun. Forget. Be normal again.

He knew he was selfish. Not just for that, but for tons of other reasons, too.

But it didn't stop him from smiling and reaching into his jacket for his pack of cards.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

" _I need more! I need_ more!  _I need more I need more I need more!"_

Cameron was screaming at the top of his lungs. Jonathan cringed away from how anguished and horrible it was. It sounded like it was coming from a monster, or something out of a scary movie. It didn't sound like it was coming from his brother. But this didn't  _look_ like his brother, either. He'd never seen him like this, before. In his entire life, he had never seen him so  _livid._ His face, pale and sick and nauseated, was twisted up in so much rage it was unspeakable. He could barely bring himself to look at it head-on.

Sebastian was looking at his brother sternly. Like  _any_ parent would look at their child when they were throwing a tantrum they thought was absolutely stupid. His voice was even, and measured. "Cameron.  _Calm_  down. You do  _not_ take that tone of voice with me. You do  _not_ yell at me."

He may as well have not said anything. Cameron kept screaming. Tears were streaming down his face.  _"I need_ more!" he screeched.  _"I_ need  _it I need more it's not fair you're not_ giving it to me!" The entire time Cameron screamed, he was clawing at his arm, where their father always injected him. Jonathan knew he'd gotten a dose yesterday morning. That had been more than twelve hours ago, by now. Cameron had gotten sicker and sicker as the day went on and now he was screaming and crying. He was losing it.  _"I need more!"_ His nails were raking down so hard against his skin, Jonathan was sure he would start bleeding.

"Cameron, I've  _told_ you, we do not  _have_ any more." Sebastian's voice was cold. "I've  _told_ you, I will get you some as soon as I can, but it will  _not be_ this very  _moment._ I've made a call, in a couple of hours—"

Cameron was screaming before he could even finish. Senselessly, he was ducking down and screeching nonsense, changing to dig his nails into his skull, instead.  _"I want more, I need more I can't wait that long please don't make me wait that long!"_ He was flipping on a dime, between screaming in rage and in deep sorrow. Jonathan felt numb. Like this was something horrible on TV and he was just watching it, separated by glass. Cameron was gasping, like he couldn't breathe. He turned and he grabbed the thing that was closest to him. It was a small chest sitting on the shelf.

Without warning, Cameron threw it as hard as he possibly could at Sebastian. It hit him hard in the stomach, and he staggered back in shock. Cameron hugged himself, like he was trying to keep himself together. Half-crazed, he was rubbing the inside of his elbow hard against his side as he did.  _"Get me more!"_ he screamed.  _"I can't take this I'm going crazy and I hurt and I'm sick just get me more why can't you get me_ more!?"

Sebastian drew the line. Jonathan stiffened when his father lunged out and grabbed Cameron's arm. He yanked him close and twisted it just enough to get him to gasp in pain— to get him to stop screaming. His eyes were just slits when he scowled at him. His words came out through clenched teeth. "You  _listen_ to me. You do  _not_ act this way, Cameron Black,  _do you understand me!?"_ Cameron was sobbing, pushing at his hand and trying to get him off. He just jarred him again, digging his fingers into the bone harder. His brother choked, and Sebastian snarled in this silence: "I said  _do you understand me!?"_

"He can't help it!" Jonathan yelled, finally finding his voice. And finding it congested and thick with tears. "He can't help it, you made him this way, you—!"

He was being ignored. Sebastian shook Cameron again, and again his brother sobbed and whimpered. "I thought you were  _mature_ Cameron, I thought you were  _better_ than this."

"I  _am_ mature!" he wailed. "I  _am!"_

Another shake. Another choke. "Then  _start acting like it,"_ Sebastian spat. He straightened and threw Cameron backwards. Jonathan's eyes widened when his brother hit the ground. "I  _told_ you I will get you more in a couple  _hours—_ you had better  _rethink_ your behavior, otherwise I just might not even  _give you it_  once I have it." Cameron looked up with a desperate cry. Sebastian glared at him. "You're  _disappointing_ me today, Cameron." He may as well have stabbed him. He broke; he curled inward, like he was trying to plug a wound. "I expect  _better_ of you." The disappointment in his tone was so deep, you could swim in it.

Cameron was  _drowning_ in it. Jonathan could see.

Sebastian apparently didn't care enough to. He turned and stormed away. He slammed the door behind him, and it echoed in the silence. Jonathan stared in dismay for only a couple moments. It was only briefly, he was stuck in a stupor of shock and sorrow and hopelessness. A noise brought him out of it. It was small at first. A tiny choke, and a muted little thud. Jonathan turned to Cameron and his heart skipped a beat when he realized that his brother had curled up the rest of the way into a ball. His head was buried into his knees. His hands were balled into fists. And he was starting to hit himself.

At first it was, just a little hit. But his breathing was picking up and hitching, and he was starting to shake. He hit himself again, and again, bringing his fists down against his head harder. Jonathan stiffened and rushed for him. By now, Cameron was sobbing and punching himself as hard as he could. Jonathan tried to grab his wrists. "Cameron!" he begged, not even trying to hide the fact he was crying. "Cameron, stop!" His brother was screaming, now, into his knees. Jonathan's sobbing grew more severe. "Cameron— Cameron,  _stop, stop, please stop you're gonna hurt yourself, you—!"_

He'd finally grabbed his wrists, enough to get them to stop moving. Cameron was fighting and yelling so much it was a blur. But the second he pulled his little brother more upright, his soothing was cut off. Cameron lashed  _out,_ instead of in at himself. Jonathan wasn't protecting against that— he wasn't even thinking of that. So when his brother punched  _him_ instead, he was unprepared. Pain burned itself hard into his face when his brother caught his cheek. He was thrown back, from the blow.

His head was ringing with pain. He looked up at Cameron with hurt and something close to betrayal. Cameron had stilled. He was gasping like he'd run a million miles. Neither of them said anything for ages. It took the both of them that long to actually come to terms with what had happened. When it did, they both started crying harder. Jonathan silently, biting down hard on the pain that was quickly wrapping itself around his head like a band that was too tight. Cameron loudly, like he couldn't possibly hold it in.

"I'm sorry!" he sobbed. Jonathan just kept staring at him, kept holding his face. Cameron started crying even harder. So hard it was difficult to understand him. But Jonathan did. Jonathan  _always_ understood him. So he understood him when he crumbled down into himself and curled away again. Hid his face, and sobbed into his knees: "I hate myself!" Jonathan's heart stopped. His pain left in an instant. Cameron just curled more away. "I hate myself! I hate myself!" he kept crying, stuck on repeat.

"Cameron— no, Cameron, don't say that!" he objected, crawling close to him again. He put his arms around his brother and pulled him up more. He put his head on his shoulder and rubbed his arm, starting to rock him back and forth. "Don't say you hate yourself, Cameron,  _don't,"_ he begged.

"I do!" Cameron wailed. It tore right through him. "I  _do, I do hate myself, I hate myself so much!"_

Jonathan had no idea what to say. After a second he sniffed hard, shaking his head as he bundled Cameron closer. As he ignored how sweaty he was, and how much he was burning up— how much he was shivering and choking, like he was going to vomit if he could ever get himself to stop crying. And he rocked him. Rubbed his arm gently. Kissed him on top of the head.  _"I_ love you." Cameron started crying even harder. Jonathan hoped he still heard him when he promised: "I love you enough for the both of us."

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

She was waiting again. She kept checking the clock inside. He was bound to be up here any moment. She'd been over the moon when he'd told her they were staying here in Reykjavik for a much longer time than anticipated. He'd seemed upset, when he'd told her. Sad…like there was something wrong with that. But when she'd asked him what was wrong, just like he always replied, he'd told her there was nothing wrong. That he was glad, because that meant he'd see her again. And he had changed the subject. He'd started to teach her how to deck shoot. She still couldn't do it. Maybe her fingers were just too cold.

She was trying her hand at it again when she heard footsteps. She looked up and smiled when she saw him standing in the middle of the doorway. He was staring at her. There was something off about the look on his face. But she was too happy to really focus on that, right now. "There you are!" She looked down at the mess of cards currently all over the table. Her smile turned a bit embarrassed. "As you can see, I am  _not_ a good deck shooter." He said nothing. She looked back up to see that he hadn't moved a muscle. She automatically tried to defend herself. "It's not like I haven't been  _practicing_ though, I—"

"What's your name?"

She jerked, surprised at the suddenness and dullness of the question. He was still looking at her funny. He seemed tense. Upset.  _Really_ upset. She shifted a little uneasily in her chair. She tried to match his question with her own, but it didn't really work out all that well. "Why do you need to know my name?"

"I need to know I can  _trust_ you," he returned, his voice a low mumble.

She frowned. "With what?"

"You're my friend." She was a little caught off-guard with the sentiment. Her eyes widened, and her shoulders slouched a little. There was an unexpected warm feeling in her chest…a break from all this snow and cold. He kept going, though. "Or…at least I think you are." Her face fell. He wasn't through. "Being with you here, and playing— it's been the most fun I've had…in years. It's the  _happiest…_ I've been in years." She stiffened when she realized that his shoulders were starting to shake, and his voice was getting thicker. "You're so nice, and you remind me so much of the way he used to be back when he was happy, and I've just been using  _this_ time to…not  _cry,_ to  _laugh,_ and have  _fun,_ and finally be  _happy again,_ but I  _shouldn't have,_ I shouldn't have been doing that, it was wrong— I've been in the wrong this entire time…

"But I don't know what to do!" He wiped at his eyes and sniffed. "I don't know what to do, I've never known what to do, that's why I never did anything— but now it's gone too far, I can't keep letting him get hurt, because he's going to die if I do, and I'm gonna lose my best friend! But I don't want to do it alone— I've  _never_ done anything alone,  _ever,_ I always had him with me, he was always there, and that's another reason why I couldn't do anything, is because I'm no  _good_ without him, I'm no  _good_ without someone to be there with me and I—" He choked back a swallow. "I have to do something but I don't want to do the wrong thing, I have to make sure it's right, so I want someone with me! And you're all I have!

"You're my friend and you've made me so happy but the thing is, I don't even know your name! So how can I trust you!? How can I know you trust me— how can I know that you're gonna— that you're gonna try and help in a way that'll— make everything okay again, how can I know you won't just run down there and tell the first person you see? I have to know you won't tell anyone, I have to know it's just us in this, I have to know it's just us but to do that, I have to know your name!"

He said this all in a rush. So much so, he thought it would be a miracle if she understood.

Her eyes were just the tiniest bit wide. But strangely enough, she seemed very collected. And after a moment's pause, she announced quietly: "Cornelius."

He sniffed, wiping his eyes again. "What?"

"My name is Cornelius," she returned. She was smiling at him again. "I  _am_ your friend…and this is the first time in years I've been this happy too." He smiled back. It was watery and weak, but it was there. Her voice got gentler. "You can trust me. I'll help you in whatever way you want me to help you. I won't tell anyone." Still, he didn't move. She tilted her head to the side. "You can tell me, Cameron," she urged.

Still, he hesitated. There was a long stretch of silence. Before…

"I'm not Cameron." She looked confused. He stared at her steadily, despite his tear-filled eyes. Struggling not to let his voice waver or drop to a whisper when he finally –  _finally_ – said: "My name is Jonathan Black. I'm Cameron's twin."

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

"I can't."

"You have to, Cameron." Sebastian's voice had the faintest ghost of a warning in the very back of it. Cameron cringed. He hadn't touched a single thing, all dinner. Jonathan would know…he had the same exact amount of food, down to the very ounce. Just like every night now, Jonathan had watched Sebastian measure it out with painstaking care. They each got six ounces of soup. Four tablespoons of mashed potatoes, and if they had all of that, they could have a bowl of fruit— and you'd better believe those bowls had the same amount of everything in it…the same number of cantaloupe pieces, the same number of strawberries…it was all carefully measured. And Jonathan couldn't eat without Cameron. He had to wait.

Cameron was losing weight. He never ate anymore, and he never did shows anymore. He hadn't even  _practiced_  in ages. All he did was leave at night, and when he came back, he laid down and got his 'reward.' When he didn't have that, he was sick and spacing out. He'd been losing weight for a while, but it was starting to get too noticeable. So, of course, this is what Sebastian had come up with to remedy it.

Every single meal, they had the same amount of food, and Jonathan had to sit beside his brother and wait to take a bite with him. Cameron, of course, was encouraged to eat a little more between meals, to catch up for the shortcoming that already existed. But Sebastian made absolutely sure Jonathan didn't even take a sip of anything Cameron didn't. But that was the issue. Cameron didn't eat. He couldn't. So Jonathan couldn't, either. It was their second week of doing this, and it hadn't improved at all. Jonathan would sit with Cameron and try to help him – he would  _beg_  him to eat – but it would be pointless. He was lucky if Cameron managed to get half his plate down. But he wasn't even really focusing on the fact that that meant he couldn't eat, either. He wasn't even focusing on the fact he was losing weight like his brother was.

He was more focused on how sick his brother was.

It was fine if he couldn't eat— Jonathan wanted Cameron to eat.

They'd been sitting there for two hours, now. Cameron looked  _bad_. He was pale, and shaking. There was a sheen of sweat on his forehead just from the effort of sitting. His eyes were dull and filled with pain as he stared half-lidded down at his untouched food. Everything had long since cooled by now. At Sebastian's snap, Jonathan's heart tore when he saw his brother's lower lip tremble and his eyes close tight.

Jonathan reached over and started to rub his back gently. "C'mon, Cam…" he encouraged softly. "You haven't eaten anything all day." Neither of them had. But again, Jonathan wasn't thinking about that part. "You can get down…just half of it. Just  _half_. You can do it. I know you can…" Cameron sniffed, and shook his head. "C'mon, Cam," he repeated, his voice slowly becoming more strained. "Just a little…just a few bites…" Cameron shook his head again. He heard him start to cry under his breath.

Sebastian's expression was wiped clean of anything at all. And his voice was completely unaffected when he said: "Cameron, you are not leaving this table until all of that is eaten. Do you understand me? No more tantrums, no more refusing to eat." Jonathan kept rubbing his brother's back, but he turned and looked up at Sebastian, his expression flooding with absolute hatred. He didn't even glance at him. "You are going to eat all of that by the time I come back out to check on you, or  _else."_

Cameron flinched again. Sebastian just turned and left. Jonathan glowered after him for a few moments, before he forced himself to stuff all the anger down. He turned back to Cameron, and when he did, his expression turned soft and sweet. So did his voice. "It's okay, Cam, don't worry about him," he soothed. Now that he was gone, Cameron was starting to cry, making less of an effort to hide it. He gasped and sniffed. Jonathan forced himself to smile. "Don't worry, Cam, it's fine. I'll make sure you're okay." His brother forced his eyes to open again, and he turned and looked at him with a sorrowful, disoriented gaze. It stabbed through his heart, to see how sick he looked.

He changed from rubbing his brother's back to putting his hand comfortingly on his cheek. Checking, at the same time, to see whether or not he was getting a fever. His stomach twisted when he realized he did feel a little warm. "How about I warm everything up again?" he prompted. "You don't wanna eat cold soup and cold mashed potatoes— we can fix that. I'll just put 'em both in the microwave."

He started to reach over and pick up his bowl. But Cameron stopped him. His voice was nothing more than a pathetic whimper. "I can't, Johnny…" Jonathan frowned, and looked back at him. His brother was choking on all his sobs that wanted to be much harder. "I can't eat it, I can't, I don't wanna get sick…"

Jonathan looked from him, to the food. "Cam…you…just…you just have to try, Cam, you—"

"Please don't make me eat it…" And it was the heartbroken, already-disappointed way he sobbed this that got Jonathan to stop short, forlorn and desolate. Cameron's head was hanging again. His hands were shaking when he lifted them up to hide his face. His shoulders lurched with every thick sob or gasp. "Please don't…I don't want it…"

He reached up to rub at his forehead, trying to bite down on all his nerves before they could build up into a panic. He closed his eyes and counted to ten, trying to block out his brother's crying. And when he opened them, he was much more in check. He looked back at Cameron and grabbed his wrists, gently lowering them. "I'm going to reheat all of this," he said, very gently. "And I'm not gonna force you to do anything. I'm gonna reheat this, and we're gonna see if you're hungry. That's it. I  _promise_. Okay?"

He hesitated. But sniffed when he gave a tiny nod.

Jonathan smiled. He let go of his arms and pushed away from the table. But the second he did, he was lurching. Everything spun, the second he stood up. The ground fell away from underneath him, and he found himself staggering to the side as his vision swarmed with black for a second. Thankfully, he was near the table. He grabbed it and held tight. He waited the dizzy spell out, blinking fast and breathing even faster. He hadn't eaten all day. He'd barely had anything to eat yesterday. It was getting to him. Sometimes it was easier to overlook than others. But he had to be more careful, standing up like this.

It passed, and his vision cleared again. He turned to see Cameron looking at him anxiously. "Are you okay?" Jonathan regained his smile. He was just about to reassure him, that yes, of course he was okay, when Cameron kept going. His voice was crowded with anxiety and worry. Even though he was still swaying a little in his chair. Even though he was much worse off than Jonathan was. "Johnny…" His voice was desperate, and urgent. Jonathan's smile faded. "Johnny— eat them both," he pleaded. His eyes widened out a bit, with confusion. Cameron was starting to breathe faster. "Eat both of the them, just take even bites," he begged. "He won't know, he wouldn't be able to tell— and you need to eat…!"

Jonathan had to force himself over the mental hurdle enough to speak. "Cam— you need to eat more than I do." His brother wilted. He immediately righted himself and forced that smile back where it belonged. Or…back where it had to be. "I'm just gonna reheat it, okay? I'll be right back, don't worry." Cameron was silent as his brother picked up both bowls and start to the kitchen. He stumbled a little, on his first couple of steps out. Cameron noticed the detail and he started breathing even faster, his eyes welling up. But Jonathan got his legs to work correctly again and he went into the next room.

He had to get on his toes to reach the microwave. He was still just a wee bit too short for it. But he got Cameron's in first, and picked a time he figured would be good enough. He'd have to go back again for the mashed potatoes, but this was a start. Soup would be easier for Cameron to get down, anyway. He was worried about his brother; he was terribly worried…but he was also hungry, too. It was less important…but Jonathan wanted to get down just a little, too. He didn't want to cheat and do what his brother said…he wanted to make sure they got the same amount. He wanted to get his brother healthy again.

He exhaled shakily, before he leaned so that he could prop himself up against the counter as another spell of dizziness put him off-balance. He ducked his head and closed his eyes, trying to breathe through the nausea. When he realized he could hear something out of the ordinary. He frowned and turned towards the noise. His heart leapt up into his throat.

It was breathing— he could hear harsh, hitched breathing. His stomach twisted. "Cam?" His brother didn't reply; he could hear him all the way from where he was standing, a room away. He had to stop and hesitate as another rock of dizziness shook him. If he took off the way he wanted, he'd fall right on his face. It took him a second or two, but he eventually got himself to function. He abandoned all the food and rushed back to the dining room.

Cameron was looking down at himself— at his hands, even though he wasn't holding anything. Tears were streaming down his face, and he was gasping hard in and out. Panicked, harsh wheezing and choking. Jonathan's heart sank. Cameron used to do this all the time, but he hadn't done it in a while. It was especially frequent before he started taking all the drugs. Now, they were fewer and farther between, but they were still horrible, awful panic attacks. Gaps of time where all he could do was gasp and heave and choke and cry, in a way where it seemed like he'd never be able to stop.

"Cam!" Jonathan cried out. He was just getting worse by the second. His eyes were huge, and every breath was deeper and sharper than the last. Tears were drenching his face. He started towards his little brother, biting down on the way his head spun when he did. "Cam, calm down— calm down, okay? We're just gonna— Cameron!" His voice heightened in shock and fear, when all of a sudden, Cameron's eyes rolled back into his head. His entire body went lax when his panicked hyperventilation suddenly died together. He went limp, and the instant Jonathan realized what was happening, he was falling out of his chair. He hit the ground with a hard slam and collapsed there in a heap.

"Cameron!" Jonathan ran, tripping over his own feet and practically falling down to his knees beside him. He was the one hyperventilating, now. He leaned over and shoved him onto his back. Cameron flopped listlessly. His head lolled to the side. Jonathan held his face in his hands and brought it back center, leaning over him as his eyes started streaming. "Cameron!" He sobbed, when his brother didn't answer. He fumbled, trying to remember where to put his fingers to feel for his pulse. He thought he felt it— but what if it wasn't right!? He bent down low, pressing his ear to his brother's chest. He tried to stop crying enough to try and see if he could hear him breathe. But no— he heard it. He was breathing. He was.

He pulled away and went back to holding Cameron's face. "Cameron!" When his brother didn't respond, he grabbed him and started to shake him. His fear made him violent. Usually he treated him like glass, but that concern was out the window, now. He jarred him, probably enough to make his teeth rattle. His eyes flickered a little but he still didn't wake up. Jonathan's heart was in his throat; without thinking, he slapped him. He didn't want to hurt him; he started crying harder. But he hit him and he hit him hard, to try and get his eyes to open. "Cameron!"

A faint whine died in the back of Cameron's throat. Jonathan cringed, and grabbed him by the shoulders again, shaking him the hardest yet. "Cameron! Cameron, wake up!" His heart stopped when his brother started to worm his eyes open again. He was pale, and his eyes were distant. It took a second for him to even focus enough to look at Jonathan.

"Cameron…you fell," he whimpered, feeling stupid. Cameron blinked, slowly and groggily. Jonathan wilted, and he slid his arms under him. He got one underneath his shoulders, and his other underneath the small of his back. He grimaced a little when he lifted him…but it wasn't nearly as hard as it probably should have been. He shifted to cradle him. Cameron looked like he was close to being sick. Jonathan's lower lip trembled again. He didn't want to push. But he had no choice. So he croaked, after a moment: "Cam…Cam, you need to eat something." Cameron was immediately cringing and whining. He shook his head. "Cam— just something small. You need to eat something. You have to, you're getting too sick not to."

Cameron sniffed and gasped in shakily. "Nnn…nno…"

"Cameron, please," he sobbed out. "Please…please just—"

He broke off when Cameron moved. His arm was limp. But he still managed to reach up and hold to Jonathan. His eyes closed again, like he was doing what Jonathan had been trying to do: wait out the nausea. Only it seemed like there wasn't an end to Cameron's. His brother grabbed onto him and held there. Jonathan's eyes rounded out with unimaginable sorrow and pain when his brother's head went slack, tucking into the crook of his elbow. He hadn't fainted again…but he was so exhausted, he might as well have.

It felt like someone was stabbing him in the chest as he looked down at his baby brother. He couldn't think of what to do; Jonathan just sat there and cried, unable to even wipe his eyes because he was holding Cameron in his arms. But all Cameron did was turn more into him, and relax. It didn't look like he wanted to go anywhere at all. Jonathan closed his eyes. He forced himself to count to ten again. Before he opened them again, and put on that smile again. That horrible, fake, exhausted smile.

"You're alright," he whispered. He moved and brushed his hair back soothingly as he kept holding him. Cameron let out a shaking sigh. "I'll hold you, first. For a little bit. You have to eat…" his brother grimaced a little, "but you can rest for a second. I'll hold you first." Cameron's face cleared. His lips twitched in the tiniest sense of a smile. Jonathan's smile got the tiniest bit stronger, and more genuine. He cradled him a little closer. Held him more snugly. "…I've got you," he whispered. He softened and leaned down to put his head on top of his brother's. "I've always got you…"

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

"Is he okay?" she asked.

Jonathan stared down at his hands. When he did respond, all he managed was a tiny shake of the head. His eyes were filled with tears…they always were, now. The world had just been reduced to smears. But that was good; it meant he didn't have to see the concerned and worried look Cornelius was giving him. "He threw up four times, Tuesday night. I have no idea…how  _anyone_ can just— ignore how  _sick_ he is, why they can't see he needs  _help_ …?!" He couldn't finish. He just let it die.

It was quiet, for a while. She was staring at him forlornly, gnawing on her lower lip. Her eyes flickered to look past him, back to the house. It wasn't the first time they were meeting somewhere that wasn't at the show. Jonathan had given him their address after he'd told her the truth. They met each other out here, now…it was the first time he could actually spend his time waiting for Cameron to come home with someone else— with someone that he could actually get comfort from. They had to be careful. So far, it was working out. "Where's your dad right now?" They were tucked away where the lawn started to turn into trees. This way, they couldn't be seen.

Jonathan's expression clouded with anger. "He's inside," he grumbled. "Drinking, and…doing other stuff." His shoulders hunched. " _Wasting_  all the money Cameron gets for him…he's always angrier when he does stuff like that." He glanced down at his wrist, and Cornelius did too. Her face fell when she saw the bruises that were poking out from underneath his coat. "I don't wanna be in there," Jonathan exhaled. He sagged back more against the tree. "I'm just gonna stay out here…for as long as I can…"

"Jonathan…you have to say something." Immediately, he was looking away, distressed. She scooted closer. "I know Cameron told you not to, but…it's gone too far.  _Think_ about it— it's been going on for  _years._ When was the last time you were  _really_ happy? That you and Cameron were actually, really, happy?" His vision blurred even more. "Don't you want that back? Don't you want your  _brother_  back? You  _have_ to get help, Jonathan. Cameron might be angry now, and he might  _think_  he hates you, but one day, he'll know you did it because you loved him. And he'll thank you."

Jonathan drew his knees up to his chest. He made the mistake of blinking; tears started to streak down his face. He sniffed, and shook his head hard. "I…I  _can't,_ I…" He cringed, his lips shaking. "I can't…"

"You  _can,"_ she encouraged. "I  _know_ you can."

His eyes flickered over to her, but he didn't actually say anything.

"Or…I can do it," she offered softly. "I can call the police. I can tell them you need help."

He still couldn't speak.

She scooted even closer, getting more desperate. "I wanna do more than just listen," she pressed. "You're my  _friend_ , Jonathan. You gotta let me help you. Don't you want help?"

Still, he only gave her silence.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Cameron was sleeping. Jonathan wouldn't be surprised if a gunshot would go off and he'd still keep snoring. He was curled up close to him, his head resting against his as he looked at him with open worry. An arm was draped across his chest and he was gently petting through his hair. He'd been asleep for hours. Which was good. Jonathan had gotten him to finally go to sleep around noon when he'd started to hum some of his favorite lullabies from when they were real little. He'd been out like a light, then. Jonathan made a note to remember how well that had worked so he could use it later, if he needed to.

He was starting to fall asleep, when suddenly there was a noise. He looked at the door, and his heart sank when he saw Sebastian. He didn't let go of his brother. He hoped he would get the message and walk back out. But he kept going towards them. He started to reach out, but Jonathan whispered before he could, his voice devoid of anything. "Can he sleep a little while longer?" He begged. "He was so tired…"

He got the answer he knew he would receive. "He's got to go." Jonathan's lower lip trembled, but he said nothing. Sebastian leaned down and shook Cameron gently by the shoulder. He felt sick when he saw how much effort it took his brother to wake up. "Cameron," Sebastian murmured, at least being gentle with him. Cameron roused, forcing his eyes open and blinking a couple times as he tried to drag himself out of sleep. "Cameron, it's time to get ready to go." He woke up a little more with this. But Jonathan could see how much it was paining him. Sebastian just patted his shoulder and started to draw away. "I'll be at the door," he said, already turning and walking back out. "You have ten minutes."

He shut the door behind him. Cameron stayed staring up blearily at the ceiling for a second. Jonathan's fingers had stilled in his hair, but now he started to pet through it again. His brother roused, apparently just now realizing he was there. He let his head go slack to the side, so he could look at him. Jonathan's heart tore at his groggy and sick expression. He struggled to smile at him. It looked like Cameron tried to do the same. His eyes were sliding closed again, like he couldn't keep them open. "How do you feel, Cam?" Jonathan whispered, continuing to do the only comforting thing he could think of.

He was silent for a while. Until he managed a tiny exhale of: "M'okay…"

Jonathan tried to keep his smile. He shifted a little closer. "Hey," he murmured. Cameron was trying to get his eyes open again. It was a heartbreaking struggle. "Hey, guess what, Cam?" Cameron hummed a little bit. Jonathan sat up more so he could look at him better. His brother looked asleep. His expression softened, but it was also wrought with pain. He had to wait out the pain. The anger at himself that he hadn't done anything, and the fear that he  _couldn't_ do anything, mingling together in one frustrating simmer. Eventually, after swallowing hard, he brushed his fingers over his little brother's forehead, and then back through his hair again. "It's our birthday tomorrow," he reminded, almost certain Cameron had forgotten.

A bleary smile came over Cameron's face. His lips barely moving, his eyes closed again when he chirped under his breath: "We're g'nna be  _twelve_ …" Jonathan gave a happy little 'uh-huh', once again trying to forget how long this had actually been going on. He tried to hide the fact he had to sniff, a little. Cameron giggled, and the sound punched Jonathan straight in the gut. "You're gettin'  _old,"_  he whispered. Jonathan giggled too, a little too much for how tiny the joke was, considering he was just so glad to be hear his brother laugh and tease, however weak it was. "J'st you…'m not old yet..."

He laughed again, sniffing and wiping his eyes with his free hand. He pulled a little closer, to hug him. "Yeah, okay." He smiled big into his neck. Before it got too watery to actually stay. He drew through his hair a couple more times, feeling hopeless, and torn, and confused. "I love you  _very_  much, Cameron." His brother looked at him, waking up a little bit more. Jonathan shook his head. "I love you  _so_  much." His voice cracked, with the repetition. "And…no matter  _what_ happens, Cam…I'll always love you. Okay?"

"M'kay…" Cameron hummed. Jonathan ducked his head a little, his expression crumbling. But there wasn't much else he could say. He just snuggled closer to Cameron and held him for as long as he could. Remembering everything Cornelius had said to him, and feeling horrible. Knowing there was an easy fix to this…but knowing, at the same time, that the fix wasn't easy at all. Cameron rested against him for a while; Jonathan was almost tempted to believe that he'd fallen back asleep. But after a few minutes or so of complete silence, he was surprised when his brother shifted. "I gotta go…" he whispered numbly.

Jonathan hugged him tighter, focusing on the comforting feeling of his brother so close, and okay. He rarely ever got to feel this anymore. He rarely ever got to know that his brother was okay. The idea of him walking out the door again, leaving Jonathan to face the night completely alone and afraid, was horrifying. "Just a couple more minutes," he pleaded. "Just stay with me for a couple more minutes, Cam…"

Cameron hesitated. Before he twisted so he could curl up against him and hug him back. "M'kay…" he sighed again. Jonathan relaxed. He closed his eyes and just tried to focus on the fact his brother was close to him now. Telling himself that if he just  _did_ something, if he just  _told_ someone  _something,_ maybe things would work out, and he would get to keep his brother like this all the time. That he would never have to stand back and watch him leave the night before their birthday ever again and wonder if he was going to come back okay. At the same time, telling himself that surely Cameron wouldn't  _actually_ hate him; that he would understand, and the two of them would be able to be happy again like they used to be, so long ago. Even  _happier,_ because Sebastian wouldn't be there.

Trying to ignore the fear of Cameron hating him. Of being separated. Of something bad happening.

 _It's going to be hard. But you can't keep doing this. You_ can't…

He knew that. But for right now, all he ended up doing was hug Cameron tighter.

Stuck in all the indecision and fear that his father  _and_ his brother had planted in his mind.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Cameron didn't even pack a bag. He stayed in bed as long as he could, just snuggled up to Jonathan. He left with barely a minute to spare on his ten minute countdown. Jonathan helped him get up, and steadied him when he wobbled a little. He looked lightheaded and a little sick…Jonathan had no idea how anyone would ever look at the state he was in and be prepared to hurt him even  _more_ on top of it. But he was steadying himself well – he kind of  _forced_ himself to get over everything, on nights where he went out – and he was looking much better by the time they were going downstairs. Cameron had turned and said goodbye, the way he always did. Jonathan told him to come back, the way he always did.

Only, this time, he hesitated. And when his brother had started to turn for the door, he had reached out to grab him back up into a hug. Before he had let go, he'd kissed him on the forehead. Cameron had smiled when he did, getting about three times softer. Jonathan had murmured a heartfelt: "I love you so much." Cameron had murmured back just as earnestly: "I love you too." And Jonathan had watched with a heart that weighed about a million pounds, as his brother was led away once more.

When the door had closed, it had sounded like it echoed for a million years afterward. Jonathan had stood there and felt empty— the way he always did when Cameron left. And it had hit him in that moment, that that line of thought crossed him far too often. 'Like he always did.' Because it was true. If he had half a cent for how many times he had gone through this cycle – how many times he had  _suffered_ through this cycle – he would be rich. For almost three years, this had been going on. He had stood aside and let his older brother be taken away from him, again and again. He had missed him, again and again.

_If you tell, you won't be my brother anymore._

He didn't  _deserve_ to be Cameron's brother if he let him constantly get hurt like this.

He loved his brother. To the end of the earth, and back. He was all he had.

Jonathan wanted to protect that.

Standing, staring at the door that had closed behind his father and his brother, Jonathan decided then and there that Cornelius was right. He couldn't waste any more time. He couldn't risk something else happening. He wanted to be happy again— he wanted Cameron to be happy again. He was scared. And he knew that at first Cameron wouldn't like it. But he promised himself that when his brother got home, he would at least  _try_ and insist that they call the police, or just  _tell_  someone  _something_. He would argue with him, if he could. He would beg him not to hate him. But he would call. He would do something.

They were turning twelve tomorrow.

Jonathan's birthday present to him, would be an end to all of this.

He told himself that hopefully, one day, he might understand.

He stayed up all night…again, like he  _always_ did. He was on-edge…but at least this time, he was able to comfort himself through it by promising himself it would be the  _last_ night he did this. He sat cross-legged on his bed, staring down at the blankets and trying to practice what he would say to the police when he called. 'Hello, I have an emergency, my name is Jonathan Black, and my brother is—…' 'Hello, my brother needs help, our dad makes him—…' 'My brother doesn't know any better, and he's confused, he has no idea what—…' 'Can police officers just come over and help us so that our dad doesn't—…' He thought and rethought over every possible option. Starting over and over again, never finding something that was right.

That was how he spent the night. Struggling to come up with something. At least it was  _something_ to do, other than just sit and stare at the wall. He was relieved when the room started to brighten, little by little. When he looked at the clock and saw that it was almost eight. When, downstairs, he heard Sebastian leave. He told himself it would be okay. That he might not have the best idea for what to do, but at least he had the certainty that  _something_ was going to happen. Which was more than they'd had this entire time.

He laid back in bed and waited, trying to remember how long it had taken for Sebastian to drop his brother off. Because it ended up taking quite some time for him to get  _back_. The entire time, his stomach twisted into knots, when he thought of what he would have to do later on today. Feeling his heartbeat already picking up. He was  _finally_  going to tell someone, like he'd wanted to for ages. He was going to try and explain it to Cam, but even if his brother didn't agree, he was still going to. He was going to go against Sebastian, and likely get him into serious trouble. He was going to…send the both of them to live with other families…and that was when they…may or may not be split apart.

He promised himself he'd fight. He had to stay with Cam— he had to protect him. There was no way he was going to let them take him away. They were going to stay together. They had gone through this entire mess together— they were going to  _finish_ it together, too. So he waited…and he waited…and he waited some more. Jonathan's face was falling, the longer he had to wait. He looked at the clock, and his heart wedged up in throat when he saw that it was almost 9:30.

He just started staring at the clock. Watching it roll past 10:00…and then 10:30. His stomach just twisted even more. He curled even tighter. It wasn't until around 11:30 that he heard any kind of noise at all from downstairs. When he heard the tiniest sound from the door, Jonathan was sitting up. His worry was washing away, to be replaced with surprisingly-harrowing relief. He practically threw himself off the bed and rushed down the stairs, ignoring how dizzy it made him, taking them two at a time, anyway. His fear would be remembered quickly. For now, all he felt was excitement and relief.

But when he got downstairs, he stopped short, and his face fell. There was no one there. He frowned, turning in a small circle. His shoulders drooped, and that apprehension started to come back over his face. "…Cameron?" he tried. There was no response. He wilted, and paused for only a few seconds more, before he made for Sebastian's room. He didn't ever go in— it was unspoken between them that firstly, Sebastian wanted him nowhere near his room in the first place, but also secondly, Jonathan wanted as little to with their father as possible. But he went there anyway, and didn't even knock on the door before he nudged it open. It was already cracked just the tiniest bit.

Sure enough, his father was sitting with his back to him, on the edge of his bed. The little boy's eyes flickered to the bedside table— his eyes narrowed even more when he saw the white powder Sebastian was separating into lines. If he wasn't so confused and worried, he would have felt angry. He never did  _that_ this early. He spoke loudly, and sharply. "Where's Cameron?"

Sebastian didn't even turn around. "Get out— you're not allowed in here."

" _Where's Cameron?"_ he repeated, louder.

This time, he  _did_ turn. His eyes were already bloodshot. Maybe they'd never gotten  _un-_ bloodshot. Jonathan was pretty good at telling when people were drunk, by now. It didn't surprise him at all to see that his father was. "Your brother's staying," he snapped. Jonathan jerked, blinking fast. Not a lot of things shocked him anymore, but this did the trick. Not  _once,_ had Cameron ever  _stayed_ with someone. He had come home and then gone back to that same person again the next night…but to stay with them all  _day,_ and then  _another_ night on top of that? Never. That was…too much. Especially  _now,_ with how sick he was.

"What do you mean, staying?" he managed. "He— he has to come home— he has to…sleep, and eat, and he has to…" He took a fast breath in. "I have to hug him, if I'm not hugging him, he can't sleep, anymore— he needs me to hold him otherwise he can't sleep—"

"Jonathan,  _out,"_ he just snapped.

Tooth and nail, Jonathan was struggling to stay angry. He was trying not to let himself get upset, and cry. But he could feel himself already getting dangerously close. After building himself up and working so hard to get himself to try and persuade Cameron about getting help, it was all slipping through his fingers. He'd spent all night staying up waiting for his brother and now he wasn't here. And… "It's our birthday." The three words came out pathetic, and trembling. Sebastian said nothing; he was still messing with the drugs on his table. Jonathan's lower lip shook. He gasped in hard and repeated himself. "It's our birthday," he croaked. "You can't make him stay with them on his birthday, it's not  _fair,_ it's—"

"Jonathan, you will  _see_ your brother on  _Monday_ ," he seethed. "Get  _out_ of my  _room."_

He didn't even hear the second half. "Monday!?" he cried. Today was  _Saturday!_ "He's not even coming back  _tomorrow!?_ You can't do that!" He was taking a couple steps into the room now, his caution forgotten. Frustration and sorrow was building in his chest far too fast for him to stop. His frustration and his tears only got harder to control when his father ignored him, bending low and doing the first line of cocaine. He tried to glare, and shove authority into his words. "Get him back!" he demanded. "Get my brother back! Bring him back home! Let him spend his birthday here— let him spend it with me! He can't be away from me for that long— he doesn't want to leave me for that long, you have to get him back, you—!"

His words, gradually building up into yelling, were cut off and replaced with a high-pitched squeak of pain, when his father suddenly whirled around and threw something at him. It came too fast for him to dodge it. Jonathan flinched and cried out when a book made heavy contact against his head. It was a thick, hardcover. He staggered backwards, sobbing under his breath as he held his head in his hands, cringing away from the waves of pain that were slamming into it, now. Sebastian didn't even care; he turned back to his lines, snapping: "Cameron will be back on  _Monday. Get out of my room."_

Jonathan's vision blurred completely, when he realized there was no point. That no matter what he did, his father wasn't going to go get his brother. That for the first time in twelve years, they weren't going to be together on their birthday. That he wasn't going to see him again for another two days. His heart ripped into two, his stomach twisted itself into knots. His lips started shaking violently as he ducked his head and closed his eyes tight, feeling tears streak down his cheeks once he did. He wanted to fight. He wanted to scream. He wanted to run out there and find Cameron as soon as he could. Tell him it was all okay and not to worry…and hug him, so that he could sleep.

But he couldn't do any of that.

All he could do was turn and slink out of the room. Only getting out into the hall, before he collapsed against the wall and slide down to curl up tightly. Holding his head in his hands and duck his head down into knees. And sob to himself, all alone, feeling sad and trapped and hopeless.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Jonathan sat on his bed, staring across the room where Cameron's was. It was empty. He was crying. It was the only sound in the whole house. Sebastian was downstairs; he didn't know what he was doing, and he didn't want to know. Jonathan had spent his entire birthday yesterday up in his room, exactly where he was now, crying exactly as he still was. It was early in the morning on Sunday. Jonathan knew his brother wasn't going to come home. He just sat there, wondering if he was okay, if he was getting hurt, if whoever he was with was being nice to him…if he was sad, if he was scared, if he was crying, too. If the uneasy, horrible feeling he had in his stomach was because something was wrong with Cameron. Reminding himself frequently that he wasn't able to do a single thing about it, and crying even more when he did.

Sebastian was paranoid. He had him on lockdown. The tiniest creak of a floorboard got him rushing at him and snapping. All the doors and windows were locked. Jonathan had tried to pick one of them last night…the bruise darkening his eye was a testament to his effort. Sebastian had unplugged the phone, too, and hidden it. Jonathan couldn't leave, he couldn't call anyone…he couldn't do anything.

His head hurt and so did his throat. He was exhausted, but he wasn't going to let himself sleep. He just kept sniffling, kept wiping his eyes. He couldn't even go and get comfort from Cornelius like he had started to; if he even took a  _step_  downstairs, Sebastian would probably hit him. He was still hurting from the last time. He just sat and stared…until his eyes were caught elsewhere, and he looked over to the window at the far corner of the room. He wilted. After a second, he pushed himself up and went over towards it, taking care to step slowly and silently. He got to the window and braced himself against it, looking outside and wondering if his brother was able to look outside, too. Most of the time, Sebastian made them keep all the windows covered. Jonathan wasn't really in the mood right now to listen to his rules.

There wasn't much to see; but this might offer him the tiniest bit of distraction. The sun was starting to poke its way up, so everything looked gray. It was fitting. For a while he just stood there, crying silently as he just stared out to the forest. When all of a sudden, there was a sharp clink, that was so loud and close that Jonathan jumped out of his skin. At first he had no idea what it was. But then it came again, and, jumping again, he leaned over and looked straight down.

His heart stopped the second he saw Cornelius. She was standing right up against the house, holding rocks in her hands. She'd thrown two already; she was getting ready for the third. But when their eyes locked, the both of them froze. She was stricken, staring up at him. With his bruised eye and his tear-soaked face. Her own face fell, as did the rest of the rocks she was holding. Jonathan sniffed and leaned even closer, putting his hands against the glass. They were separated, but the question on her face was plain as day. All her worry, all her fear.

For what seemed like years, Jonathan just stared at her.

Until, eventually, he nodded.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

He packed.

He packed for the  _both_  of them. He packed their clothes. He packed Cameron's lucky deck of cards, and his favorite blanket. The soft, warm blanket he'd had for years that was so used by now that Jonathan was surprised it was still in one piece. He packed their pillowcases, in case… _wherever_  they were going didn't  _have_ pillowcases. He packed whatever else he could think of. He even packed the candy that Cameron brought back for him time and again…he hadn't eaten a single piece. By now, it was a small mountain. He promised himself he'd let Cameron have the whole pile, later.

The bag weighed a million pounds by the time he was done, but he didn't care. He was going quick, in a frenzy; he had no idea how long he had because he had no idea what all Cornelius was saying, or when she'd actually gotten back to a phone. He didn't even know if anyone was coming. Once he was through packing all he could think of, he stood in the middle of their room and looked over it one more time, to make sure there was nothing else. He was pretty sure there wasn't. But then his eyes were landing on the shelf that was directly outside the bedroom door. A frown came over his face as he started towards it.

That little chest was perched there, on the middle shelf. He wilted, when he remembered how Cameron had screamed, and thrown it at their father. He walked out and grabbed it, opening it up to peer inside. There was a lot. He saw tickets to one of their old shows. There were plane tickets, too. His heart tore when he saw a photograph of Cameron the way he used to be— he was healthy and grinning, and holding up a card for the camera. He looked like an entirely different person. He put it back in the box he was assuming was for mementos. He squeezed that into the duffel, too…knowing Cameron would want it.

From there, Jonathan just waited. He went back into their room and closed the door, just in case Sebastian came looking. It was what he always did. Just like he listened for Cameron to come home, now he was listening for help. Not actually doing anything, because he never could, and he hated himself for that. He slouched against the wall and put his head on his knees; his heartbeat was loud, and hard in his chest.

It felt much longer than it actually was. Before Jonathan heard a knock at the door.

His heart did the opposite of what it had been doing before— now it just stopped altogether. His eyes went wide and he didn't even breathe. He heard the knocking again— louder this time, and more forceful. Only then, did he heard Sebastian's footsteps. Jonathan curled up tighter when he heard voices. He couldn't make them out; they were too soft. Something in him was telling him to get up and go down there, but he couldn't. He was so scared he was frozen. He didn't even really know  _why_  he was so scared. But his eyes were welling up with tears. He was tucking his arms up closer to himself, and ducking his head more.

The voices were raising. His stomach did a flip when he heard his father. "You know how kids are; my son has a very active imagination. He—"

"Sir, if you could please—"

Everyone was starting to talk at the same time. Jonathan's hands were beginning to shake. It was just a mess of voices, too indistinct to make out. But he could tell they were fighting. Sebastian was trying to lie— he was trying to get out of it. Again, some part of himself snapped at him to get up and go down there, but his body wouldn't cooperate. He heard footsteps— coming up the stairs. Jonathan's eyes teared up even more, fearing the worst. Sebastian would open the door, and he would grab him and hit him and throw him for trying to get help. He was starting to shake harder. And when the door to his bedroom opened, he went into a spasm of fear, curling up into a defensive ball and covering his head with his arms.

"Hey…" Jonathan flinched. But the voice was gentle, and it wasn't someone he recognized. Reluctantly, Jonathan twisted his head. He didn't uncurl, and he kept his arms thrown over himself. It was a woman he'd never seen before. She had curly black hair and blue eyes, which were flooded with shock and alarm. She knelt down, looking first at his black eye, but then at his arms, which still bore remnants of past bruises. Sorrow broke her expression. "Hey, honey…" Jonathan's breathing was fast and shallow. "You're okay," she promised, and his eyes welled up even more. "You're okay now— you're going to be just fine."

He should have felt nothing but relief. He should have felt like for the first time in three years he could finally breathe. But he didn't. Her reassurance was sweet, and it was earnest. But Jonathan just ducked away and started crying. Open, terrified, sorrow-filled sobs that communicated far more than he could with actual words. That held within them suffering, and guilt, and blame, and pain.

Three whole years' worth.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

"And this can be your room, for now!" Jonathan stared dully at the hard wood floors, at the baby blue comforter on the twin sized mattress. There were white curtains at the window, and a bedside table with a lamp. A shelf was in the corner with books of all kinds. There was a chest at the foot of the bed, and a desk on the other side. But his eyes were drawn to the bed. Jonathan had never  _been_  in a room before where there was only one bed. His chest felt as empty as his expression. The woman looked at him, and her expression became much more sympathetic. "There are other rooms, if you wanna see those."

"No," Jonathan whispered. "This is fine."

He set his duffel bag on the floor. He was uncomfortable. He didn't know this place. He didn't know these  _people_. And suddenly he was supposed to stay with them. 'For now.' He wondered with a pang and a well of tears if this was how Cameron felt every single night he left to stay somewhere else. He wondered if Cameron was okay, now. He wondered where he  _was._ He'd asked the police but all they'd said was they would try and figure out where he'd gone. He'd asked how long that would take, and the look on their faces was enough to tell him the answer wouldn't be a good one. All he'd been told after he'd talked to the police was that he was supposed to stay here, and they would find him.

The woman – Jonathan couldn't remember her name – reached over to put her hand down on his shoulder. He stiffened, and she pulled away. But she kept her tender smile. "I'm so sorry, sweetie," she murmured. "I know you're upset…and scared. But…I hope you know that you're safe here."

He said nothing.

"It's awfully late…maybe you just want to go to sleep," she suggested.

His throat was hot when he just nodded.

She nodded, too. She put her hand back on his shoulder and offered: "It'll look better in the morning. I promise." Jonathan just wilted; she smiled and hesitated a few seconds, before she turned and left. When he was sure she was gone, he shut the door. The room felt too small. He considered changing into pajamas, but he didn't have the energy. He just went over and laid down. He curled up on his side, feeling hollow and empty. For a while, he just stared, but then his expression began to crumble. His breathing started to hitch and choke. Panic was sinking its claws into his heart, making it beat faster.

He couldn't believe what he had just done.

He didn't know where his brother was.

He didn't know what was going to happen.

All he knew was that he'd told. And now he was wishing he had done  _anything_ but tell.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

He woke up late. His head was foggy.

He got up and poked his head out of the bedroom cautiously. There was no one there. His stomach twisted, when his eyes landed on the door across from him. He hesitated for a few tense seconds, before he dashed across the hall. He closed the door behind him to the bathroom, pressing himself against it like he was trying to bar someone from following. He glanced over to the sink. He paused for another long minute, before he crept out to look in the mirror. His hair was messed up. His clothes were wrinkled. He looked exhausted. He looked…like his brother. The thought slammed into him like a freight train. He hadn't even been awake for  _five minutes_ , and he was crying.

He stayed until he stopped shaking, and gasping. He splashed his face, but his eyes were still puffy. He wanted to stay— in here, or in the bedroom. But he was hungry. He'd been hungry for weeks…the possibility of food was too tempting. When he went out, every step was slow and filled with trepidation. He could hear voices, once he got out. He followed it, and found himself coming into the kitchen. They were there— the man and the woman he'd been told he had to stay with. They were both on the younger side. He didn't know what they'd been talking about, but the woman had been laughing. He lingered in the entryway, his arms folded. They were both so preoccupied, they didn't notice him coming in. But something else did.

Jonathan jumped at a sudden flurry of barking. His eyes went wide and he skittered backwards when a dog suddenly rushed up, jumping and barking. The woman rushed to grab her by the collar. "Daisy! Daisy, hush! This is Jonathan!" The golden retriever kept barking, hopping from one foot to the other, like she was too excited to sit still. He just stared at her cautiously. The woman smiled at him. "Sorry— Daisy gets  _so_  excited when company is over! I kept her inside our room last night…" Her face started to fall at the look on his face. "Oh, you're not— allergic to dogs, are you? I can put her away again, I—"

"No, I…I'm not allergic, I…" He wilted. "Cameron just…really loves dogs. He's always wanted a dog."

His eyes were filled with tears, as he just stared at the dog, who seemed to be grinning back at him. She seemed calmer now, and the woman let go. She crawled close and started to sniff him, her tail wagging. He didn't want to ask. He was too almost too scared to. But he forced himself. "Did they find him?" he murmured weakly. "Did they find Cameron?" He looked at them and already saw his answer. "Did…Sebastian say where he was?"

She hesitated. It was the man that answered, and instead of looking at him, Jonathan just looked down at the ground. "Not yet," he answered. Jonathan's chest caved with pain. "They're still looking. And they asked us to tell them when you woke up…I think they have a couple more questions to ask you…but we don't have to do it right away." Jonathan stayed silent. He smiled, and pushed up from the table to walk over towards him. Jonathan wished he wouldn't. "But I hear it was your birthday a couple days ago!" he said. "You're twelve?" Jonathan's lips shook a little. "That's certainly gettin' up there!"

' _You're gettin' old…'_ Jonathan sniffed.  _'J'st you…'m not old yet…'_

"You okay, Jonathan?" he asked.

The woman nudged him. "Oliver, don't press…" she whispered.

"It's fine," he whispered back. He turned back to Jonathan and asked: "How about some food? Are you hungry? You kinda missed breakfast, but—"

"Where are the others?" Jonathan mumbled.

Oliver frowned. "Others?" he repeated.

"The…other kids," he basically whispered. "The…ten…other kids…are they…somewhere else…?"

"Ten other kids!?" He started laughing. "Oh, wow, is  _that_  how many they said were here?" He threw his wife a look. "Should have told me, Emma, I would have built a couple extra houses." She cracked a smile. "You're our only one at the moment, champ. You've got this house all to yourself! Of course,  _when_ they find your brother, there's gonna be  _two_ kids. Which should be  _real_ soon, yeah?"

He blanched, trying to find his words. "You…um…" They both frowned. Jonathan wilted, struggling to get himself to just  _speak._ He flinched, and took in a fast breath. "You said…when…they get Cameron…?" Neither of them said anything. Oliver was staring at him with faint confusion. Jonathan's eyes were stinging all over again. By now, they were more often tearful than they weren't. "You're…Cameron is gonna…be able to stay here…too? You'll…you won't…separate us?" The last two words barely got out.

Oliver's face fell. Emma was the one to take this one. She took a couple steps closer, putting a smile on her face. "Of course." When he looked at her, he was clearly distrustful. "When we took you in, we already promised to take your brother, too. The second they find him, he's  _just_ as welcome, here." Jonathan still seemed unsure. He was practically clinging to himself. "We wouldn't dream of separating you. And we have another spare room." Her smile turned gentler. "Of course he can stay here."

Jonathan bit down on his lower lip. His eyebrows drew more together; he looked down, again.

Oliver paused, before he took in a fast breath and tried to change topics. "Emma makes a mean grilled cheese. She can whip you up one real fast, if you'd like." Jonathan's shoulders hunched. But his stomach had been caving in on itself for ages. He managed a tiny nod. Emma smiled and turned to whip it up. Oliver grinned, too. He leaned out and started to raise his hand, to clap it down on Jonathan's shoulder. "One birthday grilled cheese coming—" He stopped short. The very second he started to reach for him, Jonathan was cringing away, out of habit. He brought his arms up to his face, ducking down low. Bracing himself for a slap across the face, or a shove that would send him falling backwards.

The reaction was so fast, he only realized he did it after. Embarrassment flooded through him. He looked up, forcing his arms down and his body to untense. The two adults were looking at him sorrowfully. Oliver looked like he wanted to apologize. His stomach clenched, and, without even thinking, he took a few steps so his back was to the wall. He sat down, his lower lip shaking. The second he sat down, Daisy rushed out and tried to sit down in his lap, somehow. He hugged her…just because he couldn't hug Cameron. He was grateful when she started licking his face; she was helping cover up the fact he was crying.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

"What board game do you wanna play, Jonathan? You can pick—  _any_  one of these!"

Apparently they liked to have 'Game Nights' at their house. They said usually it was every Friday, but they were 'making an exception for him.' They certainly had a collection. He was standing staring up at the cabinet and looking through them all. They had Monopoly, Trivial Pursuit, Scrabble, Life, Pictionary, Cluedo, Boggle, Candyland, Cranium, and even more that Jonathan had never even seen before. His expression was heavy as he stared at them all. He didn't do anything. He just kept hugging himself.

Oliver's smile was dying a little. He prompted: "See any of your favorites in there?"

Jonathan's eyes flickered to him, but he was fast to look away again. His discomfort built.

He weakened, looking over the boy's head to Emma. She stood up from the dining table and offered him a sympathetic, slightly contrite smile as she got closer. She went to stand at Jonathan's other side, and Oliver ducked his head, backing away to give them space. Jonathan glanced after him, again. Emma was not blind to the fact he relaxed significantly once he'd retreated. She made sure her voice was soft and encouraging. "Jonathan? Do you like any of these?"

His eyes were flickering quickly between the board games and the floor. His lower lip shook.

Emma was pained, seeing how distressed he was. She crouched down to be more at his level. "If you don't want to play, we don't have to," she reassured him. He glanced at her, but again, it was only for a couple seconds. He looked like cornered prey, struggling to find a way to escape. It hurt her to see. To see him and know that his father had mistreated him so much for so long that simply asking him to pick a board game to play, simply showing him the tiniest bit of affection, had him tense and worried and scared. "You can pick whatever board game you want…or you can just go to bed. We can make ice cream, we can watch a movie, we could do whatever you want. It's  _completely_ up to you."

For a long while, he just stared in that fruitive, scared way. She was beginning to stand again, certain that his silence was final. When, wordlessly, Jonathan just pointed at Scrabble. He moved quickly; she barely caught it, before he was tucking his arm back to hug himself. The anxiety wasn't leaving him. She tried to encourage it away by smiling even wider. "Great! That's my favorite too— Oliver is  _horrible_ at Scrabble, so you picked a good one to win with," she added, slyer. She wriggled out the game and started for the table. Oliver did, too. "Would you believe that one time we played this game for  _four hours_  straight? You do  _not_ want to know why— it's a good thing you didn't pick Monopoly; once, we played  _that_  one for four  _days,_ it was a  _mess_. Do you remember that, Oli—?"

She had been talking the entire way to the table. But once she got there and started to lay out the game, they both realized Jonathan hadn't followed. The pair turned at the same time, wearing identical frowns. Jonathan was still standing in front of the game cabinet, staring emptily at all the ones still stacked. He was still hugging himself, like he was permanently cold. His lower lip was shaking even more, now. Emma's heart flipped, and it ripped painfully when he held his head in his hands, and started to cry.

At first, they were too alarmed to move. Thankfully, Emma snapped out of it. She went over to him, her expression wrought with pain. The second her arms started to wrap around him, Jonathan was recoiling out of habit, his choking becoming frightened. She wilted and paused for a moment. Before she started to hug him again, taking care to be slow, while she murmured words of comfort. Jonathan didn't dare hug her back. But after a second, at least some of his tension melted away. He kept his head hung…but at least he wasn't flinching or yanking out of her grip. He was standing in her embrace, only beginning to cry louder as she whispered him reassurances that he knew Cameron wasn't getting, wherever he was.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

"What do you want for dinner, tonight?" Emma asked. She gave him a few seconds, just in case he'd actually answer. She glanced over her shoulder. He was sitting at the table, staring at the wood with only the faintest sense of discomfort. His hands were wringing in his lap. His legs, which couldn't quite touch the floor just yet, were swinging and fidgeting. "I was thinking lamb. Do you like lamb?" She got nothing. "I've been…trying to find some recipes you might be more familiar with. You'd probably like them more— I haven't made them nearly as much…but I'm willing to try." Jonathan glanced up at her. Her smile grew. "I could make hot dogs. Or maybe cheeseburgers…you could help me! Maybe you could teach me!"

He tried to offer her a smile. But it was weak, and his eyes were flickering back down again fast.

She tried not to feel disheartened. "Oliver gets home from work around five. I usually try and have dinner ready by the time he gets through the door." She was just talking to herself at this point. She turned back to the stove; she was making him another grilled cheese. It was the only thing she really knew he liked, so far. "We've got so much ice cream, in the freezer— you should see how Oliver just  _goes through_ it all; he can eat a tub a day, if I wasn't there to take it away from him. He pouts that I'm not being fair. But I just don't want him to get diabetes— I don't see how that makes  _me_ the evil guy."

After about fifteen long seconds, there was a tiny mumble. "Cameron…does that."

She tried not to let her surprise show too much. He wasn't looking at her, but he was like a butterfly. He was finally getting close; any sudden moves, and she might frighten him off. "Do what?" she encouraged. There was still discomfort on his face, but it was much less. "Eat a bunch of ice cream?"

He hesitated, but she was fighting a beam when he gave a tiny nod. "Yeah…yeah, he can…he can eat  _so_ much." A tiny smile was tugging at the corner of his mouth. "One time he ate a whole bowl in less than three minutes. He got  _such_  a brain freeze…" he giggled. She smiled even bigger, at the smile on his face. But, unsurprisingly, it was quick to fade. As soon as he was finished talking, his face was falling, and his shoulders were drooping. Like he was being slammed with the idea his brother was gone all over again.

Her heart tugged. But she kept her voice bright. "Well, then we'll have to save some for him to have when he gets here, won't we?" He looked up at her, that uncertainty lingering. But when their eyes met and she softened, he followed her lead just a little. Some of the sorrow melted away. He gave a few tiny nods. He even managed a little bit of a grin. She turned back to the grilled cheese, making sure it wasn't burned.

When he spoke up again. "Um…" She turned back, and his next word were flooring her even more than his other ones. "I'd like…cheeseburgers. For dinner." He was practically whispering. She smiled encouragingly, nodding a little bit. "If…you don't— I just haven't…had them in a long time…it sounds…good…" He was getting more nervous the more he fumbled. "If you don't…if…if that's okay…"

"Of course it is, Jonathan!" she gushed. "We can have whatever you like! You can even go to the store with me, if you want to!"

He gave an awkward nod. She started to turn away again, but he stopped her for the third and final time. And for the third and final time, she was hit with a sting of surprise when he offered a quiet, albeit very sincere: "Thank you." There was added weight to the thanks. Almost like it meant more than just a thank-you for dinner, or a trip out of the house for the first time. She couldn't be sure; as soon as he said the tiny murmur, he was looking down again. Though with a much lighter expression, she noticed.

She felt much lighter, too, turning back to the stove. She felt about seven times lighter.

And she thought hopefully to herself that he probably  _did_ mean much more than just the dinner.

. . . .

The store was huge. He was gonna get lost. Jonathan kept a few feet between him and Emma, but he was very careful to not let that distance widen anymore— not even by a hair. He scurried after her, silent and dutiful. It turned out she needed to get a lot more than she'd first thought. She'd gotten a list and off they went. They'd been here only fifteen minutes. But Jonathan was on-edge and already ready to leave. He eyed everyone around him with paranoid worry— he tugged his coat sleeves down, so that they were pulled past his hands and he could be sure his bruises were hidden all the way. He slunk after Emma, walking in a way that made it seem like he was trying to hide himself.

Currently, they were standing in a frozen food section. Emma was looking over her list, apparently confused by something. Jonathan stood with his arms tucked up to his chest. His nose was ducked into the collar of his coat, and his hood was up, too. It was freezing outside, and it was freezing in here. Was there anywhere here that  _wasn't_ freezing? His eyes were combing through the selections that were staring back at him. There must have been a troubled look on his face – or what little face could be seen – because Emma glanced at him and asked: "What's wrong?"

His eyebrows drew together a little. He picked his head back up so his mouth wasn't hidden in his coat. "I can't read anything," he said softly. There were some English words— he'd seen them on the way in. And most people here could  _talk_ in English. There was just… _so_  much writing that was  _not._ He loved to read. He'd taught  _Cameron_ to read. Now he couldn't even read what the name of the food was, in front of him.

Emma looked from him, to the shelves. An awkward sort of worry began to cloud over her face. She grabbed up one of the packages, suddenly intent on reading every little thing on its nutrition label. But she must not have been  _too_ worried about it, because she started to talk while she did. Jonathan could tell she was trying to sound nonchalant. "I could…maybe teach you. A little," she offered. He glanced at her, and she glanced right back. The two looked away at the same time— Jonathan to his shoes, and Emma to the food. She started trying even  _harder_  to sound easygoing. "Do you think…that's something you would want? Or…?"

Jonathan kept studying his shoes. His stomach was starting to hurt, again. "I dunno."

"Do you think you would rather be home?" she asked gently. Almost like she was afraid of the answer she'd get. Jonathan wilted. It drove her to press. "Do you think you would rather be in America?"

It took him a second to think of an answer. When he did, he felt acute pain in his chest. " _Cameron_  is my home," he whispered. Sorrow clouded Emma's expression as she studied him. "I don't care where I am. I just wanna be with Cam." And he left it at that, very plainly, and simply. And suddenly very tearfully. He didn't look up, and by the way his posture had stiffened, he was asking her not to pry anymore. She got the message; She tore her gaze away and looked back at the packaging. But her face stayed troubled.

Jonathan stood there, trying not to blink because then he wouldn't cry. He'd almost gone all day without crying…it was only noon, but it was, unfortunately, a success for him either way. He felt like he was  _always_  crying, now. Always feeling empty and scared. Like he wanted a hug, but he only wanted a hug from one specific person that he couldn't have right now. He tried to focus on something else. He started to swing his arms a little, twisting back and forth and just waiting for her to be done so he could maybe focus on new parts of the store they went to. When suddenly, he felt weird. Like something was wrong.

He straightened, and turned a little. His forehead creased. Someone was staring at him.

He didn't recognize them. But they were studying him intently. He didn't like the way they looked. He looked at Emma…he opened his mouth. But he didn't know what to say. He looked back and the man was still staring. He started to weaken with even more uncertainty, but he whipped back around when Emma chirped a bright: "Alright! Now for the vegetables!" She started away, and, tossing one more look back at the stranger, Jonathan was all too quick to rush after her.

She prattled on about nothing important, probably just trying to make up for the awkwardness of before. She talked about the weather and how it had been better recently – Jonathan had made a face at that – how when she was around his age she'd broken her arm in five different places, how she used to love throwing elaborate tea parties as a kid, how Oliver was horrible at Monopoly and had flipped the board one night. Jonathan listened…it gave him something else to focus on. A couple times he actually found himself invested, and cracking a smile, or even a laugh. He saw how happy just the tiniest reaction from him, made her. One part of him thought it was strange…the other part of him felt…a little bit important…almost.

He was listening to another long-winded story of hers, actually paying pretty good attention, when his attention was abruptly snatched elsewhere. There was a flash in his peripheral. He turned towards the movement, and his eyes went a little wide. It was someone walking— rounding into an aisle. He hadn't seen their face. But they were short…and they had…long brown hair. He could have sworn they were wearing a hat…and they were wearing a hat he  _knew._ His breath caught in his chest, as he stared after them. He looked back at Emma and realized she'd wandered away. She hadn't realized he'd lagged behind. She was still picking through vegetables, trying to find the best ones. He looked between her and the corner the person had disappeared around. He hesitated. But it only took him a couple seconds to decide.

He slipped away before she could notice. He ran towards that aisle…but there was nobody there. His hopes started to fall; he glanced back at Emma to be sure she still hadn't noticed him leave. He tried the next aisle. It was just as empty. He went down another one, prepared for the disappointment, this time, but this time, there  _was_ someone. He froze when he saw her, crouched down to look at one of the lower shelves. It took a second, but his shocked expression was gradually changing to a smile. She was wearing the same hat and coat she always wore. He was going to run over to her. Throw his arms around her because he couldn't believe he'd found her, considering he'd never been able to tell him her new address.

But before he could… "Cameron?" He jerked, his brother's name smacking him across the face. It wiped his mind clean, and he was spinning around to look at whoever had said it. His heart froze in his chest when he saw the man that had been staring at him. He was still looking at him weird— it was even  _weirder_  when he was so close _._ Jonathan was too surprised to do anything. So the man took another step closer, his odd smile growing once they locked eyes. "Hey, Cam…it's been a while…" Jonathan's eyes started to widen, with realization and fear alike. His heart was starting to pound. "You remember me, don't you…? It's Emil."

Jonathan was hardly breathing. He was just completely blank. He took a tiny step backward.

Emil took two steps closer. His look was getting worse, now. His smile was scary. The look in his eyes was foreign…Jonathan had never seen it before. He was lowering his voice, the closer he crept. "We had a lot of fun…didn't we?" Jonathan's eyes were tearing fast. He tried to take another step back, but his back was against the shelf, now. He was cringing away, but Emil just kept advancing. He heard his brother's sobbing echoing in his head. All the misery on his face just after he laid down and didn't think Jonathan was looking at him yet. He was beginning to hyperventilate, staring at the floor in terror. Emil either didn't realize…or he just didn't  _care._ "Are you here with your dad?" Jonathan's chest pulled; he felt a tear track down his cheek as he cringed. "Maybe I could talk to him? I bet we could have a  _lot_ of fun  _again_ …"

"Jonathan!" He gasped in hard, as if the sound of his  _actual_  name broke him out of a spell. His head whipped around; Emma was rushing towards the aisle, alarmed. She was looking fast, between him and Emil. The instant she saw the look on Jonathan's face, and the tears on his cheeks, she was already growing angry, and running faster. Jonathan wasn't the only one perking at the cry; the second she heard his name, Cornelius was standing, too. Her eyes went huge when they landed on her friend. Emma grabbed Jonathan by the shoulder, tugging him protectively into her before she pushed him a little bit, so she stood between the two.  _"What_ are you doing?" she spat. Emil looked too floored to answer.  _"What are you saying to him!?"_

"I'm— I—"

Jonathan found himself clinging to the hem of Emma's shirt, hiding behind her like a toddler would their mom. He couldn't even look at the man; he was still staring at the ground, crying. He'd always wondered what the people looked like, that took his brother…he looked even worse than Jonathan could have imagined. Emma hugged him tight, and he didn't even feel uncomfortable in her embrace. He was shaking, he was so scared. "What were you doing? I should call the police!" she snapped, enraged. Emil was already backpedaling. "What's your name? Why were you talking to him!?  _Answer_ me!"

The man glanced at Jonathan one last time. Before he turned and started to rush away.

Emma made a noise between anger and desperation. She looked down at Jonathan, and then back after him. She apparently made her choice; she turned and let go of the boy only to crouch down in front of him. "Are you okay, honey?" He just kept crying, and breathing fast. "What did he say? What did he do?"

He was sobbing too hard to be understood. Eventually, he choked: "He thought I was Cameron!"

Her face fell. Her eyes widened.

"Jonathan!" He turned just in time to see Cornelius before she crashed into him, wrapping him up in a tight hug. His hitched breathing caught in his chest again, and stuttered for a second. "Are you okay!? I thought I was never gonna see you again, I didn't know where you went! What happened?" She hugged him tight, and he started crying harder. But he was crying even  _harder_ when she pulled away, frowning and asking: "Where's Cameron? Isn't he with you?"

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Five days.

It had been five days since his birthday. Since  _their_ birthday.

And nobody knew where Cameron was.

Jonathan had told everyone everything he knew. But apparently it wasn't enough. Jonathan was past the point of worry. He couldn't sleep. He couldn't eat. He could just wonder where his brother was, and blame himself. He was in his room, sitting on the ground with his back against his bed. Daisy had her head in his lap. Oliver and Emma were letting her sleep with him, probably hoping it would help  _get_ him to sleep. It kind of helped make him feel less alone. But only a little bit.

He was sitting, just running his hand down along her back, like he always used to pet through Cameron's hair whenever he was trying to comfort him. Feeling his throat get thicker when he wondered if he needed that, right now. Was he hurt? Was he upset? Was he even  _alive?_  He had no idea, and it was driving him insane. He wiped at his eyes and sniffed, both for about the fiftieth time that hour. He turned towards his duffel bag and dragged it closer. He opened it up and got out Cameron's pillowcase. Daisy grumbled a little, disappointed she was losing his lap, but she got off of him anyway.

Jonathan got the pillow off his own bed. He slipped off the pillowcase and exchanged it for Cam's. He sandwiched the pillow between his stomach and his knees, hugging himself around it and wishing he had his brother instead. He sniffed and his eyes flickered back to the bag. His eyes landed on something in the far corner, barely poking out. He picked his head up, to see better. It was the miniature chest that Cameron had thrown. That has all the things from shows in it.

He wiped his eyes and opened the latch. He saw the tickets, and realized they had to be tickets from their very first show. There was a deck of cards. Boarding tickets from plane rides. Luggage tags. A record of where they'd been and what they'd done. Back when it was fun. Back when it was only magic. Back when Cameron smiled all the time, and the only reason he cried was because he was laughing. Jonathan's eyes were soft as he went through it all. At the bottom, was a tiny little leather notepad.

He fished that out. Opened it up and frowned. He flipped through it, not sure what it was supposed to be. It was just a bunch of numbers. Or…not numbers…but…numbers with street names, and cities, and…Jonathan's eyes started to widen. He flipped through faster and faster. The  _whole thing_  was practically filled. So much so, the print was microscopic in the effort to get it all to fit. It was filled…with  _addresses_.  _Hundreds_  of them. Addresses for what? They hadn't traveled to this many places. And what addresses would need keeping track of, anyway? What addresses would Sebastian…?

The second he realized, he was stiffening and flipping to the very end, his stomach already in knots.

If these were the addresses he  _thought_ they were…then…then the very  _last_ one would…have to be…

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

"I know where that is," Cornelius declared softly. Not really all too surely.

He looked at her, his heart practically freezing in his chest. "You do?"

Her eyes narrowed in thought as she studied the address. But she was already starting to nod a little. "Yeah…I know what's around there. We could find it…but…" She looked at him, and he was too nervous to look at the question on her face. He turned back to look down at the leather book instead. His eyes flickered through all the addresses that were staring back at him; looking at the number got his heart feeling even heavier, and he didn't think that would even be possible. He got stuck on that final one. He wilted. "Jonathan…why are you asking?"

His voice sounded thick. "I think this is where Cameron is," he managed.

She still seemed befuddled. "Yeah…so…why haven't you called the police?"

He held the notebook tighter. It took him a second to get this next thing out. "… _I_ wanna get him."

She did a double-take. "That's…not smart," she objected. "You gotta get help, you have to—"

"What if the police don't do anything?" he demanded. "They didn't do anything about that man in the store! They didn't arrest him! They barely talked to him!"

"They— Jonathan, it wasn't like there was—"

"What if they don't try hard enough for  _this,_ either? What if  _this_ isn't enough evidence for them, either!? What if they don't get him right away!?" Cornelius looked like she wanted to argue. But it was awfully hard to fight him when he was already starting to cry. "It's been almost a week! Since you called them, and they  _still_ haven't found my brother! I've waited for them to find him this entire time and they  _haven't!_ I don't want to wait anymore! I don't want to spend another night away from him, I want to find him  _now!_ I know he's scared, and hurt, and lonely, and I can't let him go through another night like that!"

"Jonathan— I know, I  _know,_ okay? But— calm down…" He glared at her, taking the book back, like he didn't want her even looking at it anymore. "What if you go and you get hurt? What if the adult takes you, too, and then you both are—?"

"I don't care," he snapped. "I don't care— Cameron's been getting hurt for  _years_ and I've  _let him_ get hurt. I haven't done  _anything_ for him— not  _actually._ I need to help him, now.  _I_  need to be the one to help him." He shook his head. "The police are  _bad. Adults_ don't  _help. Everywhere_ we've gone,  _nobody_ has helped Cameron. Even when he looked so sick, even when he cried all the time, nobody helped. I hate them— I hate  _all of them. Except_ for Emma and Oliver," he added, almost like an afterthought. "And Cameron would  _love_ them…so I gotta bring him back to them."

She was quiet. She couldn't argue…she knew firsthand how awful the police were when it came to figuring things out. She thought of all the things her mom had done. How easily they had been pulled off, and how easily they'd evaded the police. She frowned, looking down at the floor. "But…still…maybe you should…at least  _try_  calling them first? Just… _see_ what they would do…?"

"If I call, they won't let me go," he croaked. "They'll tell me to stay here. They won't let me see him— I wanna hug him. I wanna be the first person to hug him. I wanna be the first person to tell him I'm sorry. I wanna be the first person to tell him everything is gonna be okay, because I'm the only one he'll actually  _believe."_ He looked at her desperately, practically begging her at this point. "I want to be the one to help him. Because I haven't helped him this entire time. If you know where this is, you  _have_ to tell me, Cornelius.  _Please._ I'll be careful, I'll do it right, I just need to find him. I need to get my baby brother."

She stared at him, saying nothing.

He began to deflate in disappointment.

"No," she murmured, after a second. Immediately, Jonathan's throat was burning hot with pain. Tears were rushing to blind him, and a small choke died in his chest. Until Cornelius finished. "I'll show you." He stilled, his eyes widening a little. He was too confused to say anything. She offered him a smile, still not at all sure. But apparently willing to try when she added: "You're not gonna go alone. I'll go with you."

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

They'd walked for almost an hour. The house was  _huge._ It looked like it might cost about a million dollars. The size of it alone, was daunting, but it was made worse with the fact it was completely dark. Jonathan felt a pit in the bottom of his stomach. Like everything in him was draining. His heart was beating fast, he felt sick…he was  _positive_  this was the place. He was positive that Cameron was there somewhere.

"There are no cars," Cornelius whispered.

They were standing on the other side of the street, behind a tree. Jonathan looked, and sure enough, there was nothing in the driveway. He whispered back: "Maybe they're in the garage." Or maybe nobody was home. He was hoping it was the latter. He looked at Cornelius and whispered: "Are you sure you wanna do this?"

"Yeah, of course." She smiled encouragingly. He smiled back, feeling the gratitude towards her like a punch to the gut. He was so glad she'd followed him up to the balcony, that night. He had no idea what he would be doing right now if it wasn't for her. She'd encouraged him in the first place to do something. Now she'd led him to where his brother very well might be. He owed her so much. They smiled at each other for a few more seconds, before Cornelius turned and slipped out from behind the tree. She hurried across the street and Jonathan watched tensely as she went up to the door and knocked.

He waited, his heart in his throat. But nothing happened. Cornelius tried again, knocking three more times. But again, there was nothing. She went to a window and peeked inside. Then, she turned back to him with an exaggerated shrug of her shoulders. He was washed with relief. This was good— this was the best outcome. He slipped out, and raced over to her. He was already getting the paperclip out of his pocket. "Okay, move," he puffed, once he got close enough. She stepped aside and he unbent the metal and started to wriggle it in. He was  _great_ at picking locks. He'd taught Cameron everything he knew.

"Hurry," she urged, but it was unlocked in less than a minute. It might have been his fastest pick yet. He opened the door and rushed inside. She did too, and made sure to lock it again behind them. It was dark, but the house could be made out anyway. And even though it was very much not on their to-do list, Jonathan stopped short, looking around in surprise and mumbling a tiny "Woah…" Cornelius couldn't help but do the same.

It seemed even bigger on the inside. Whoever lived here had too much money to know what to do with. There was a living room to their left, with a huge couch and a flat screen, and a fireplace that was still going. There were paintings on the walls and black fancy-looking light fixtures. Nothing was out of place. On the other side was the dining room— a huge table with about twenty chairs underneath a chandelier. The kitchen could be seen a little bit behind it, and it looked just as over-the-top as the rest of the house. It was disarming, at first glance, how fancy it was.

"It's crazy how much money some people have…" Cornelius murmured.

Jonathan scowled, thinking of the money his father had raked in, with Cameron. It was  _these_ kinds of people, that had the money. That could shell out so much just to  _hurt_  his brother. "Some people have  _too much,"_ he growled. He looked all around. But so far there was no sign of his brother. Not even his jacket on the coat rack or anything. "Cameron?" he hissed. He hesitated, before he dared to raise his voice into a tiny yell. "Cameron!" Nothing. He wilted, but shook his head. "We gotta look," he whispered. "I'll go upstairs. You stay down here…try not to turn any lights on, if you can help it." She nodded a couple times. He started to warn softly: "And if  _either_  of us hears anything…"

"We hide. Or call the police. Or run," Cornelius parroted. "I know. But first, we get Cameron."

She started to turn and start her more thorough search. But he called her back before she could. "Cornelius." She looked back at him. He smiled. "Thank you. For helping me. And letting me do this," he whispered fervently. Her expression softened. "And…for being my first real friend, too."

She beamed. "Thank  _you_  for being  _mine_ ," she returned.

They smiled at each other for a couple moments. Before Cornelius turned and started down the hall. Jonathan watched her go, before he turned and went for the stairs. He went slowly enough to keep his wits about him, and an eye out. He got up the steps and immediately tried the first door he saw. It was a bathroom with marble flooring, an expansive tub, and a mirror that took up the entire length of the wall. But nobody there to take up space. He tried the next door. It was an empty bedroom. "Cam?" he whispered, and waited just in case. But there was nothing.

He tried every door. He found another bathroom, just as ridiculously fancy as the last one. He found another room with an empty bed and empty closets. He found a game room, with a pool table and a poker table and a bar in the far corner. There was a room just with a couch and loveseats in front of a huge television set. There was  _another_ bedroom. A hallway closet, still not containing his brother. He searched high to low, even risked turning the light on briefly in each one just to be sure…but his brother wasn't here.

He was hoping desperately that Cornelius had found him, but he knew if she had, she would have gotten him. He finally got to the last door and lingered there for a second, disappoint eating at him. If Cameron wasn't  _here_ , then he had no idea where he might be. And he couldn't live another day being this worried, and scared. He almost didn't want to open it, unable to handle any more empty searches. But the second he reached out and touched the doorknob, he froze. For no reason at all, his heart stopped; a rush of pure fear made his stomach do flips. His entire body locked up and he was suddenly overwhelmed with panic. It was sudden, and random. But the horrible feeling stuck when he pushed on the door.

He only nudged it open. There was no creak, but it seemed like there should be, which how slow he moved. It was another room. It was hard to see in the dark, but he could see the bed. And he could see the shape of someone laying on it. Someone  _small_. Jonathan couldn't breathe. He couldn't move. Until he snapped out of it and turned, literally slamming the light switch and making the whole room bright. He whirled back front and took off running for the bed.

It must have been the master bedroom; he'd never seen a room this huge before. The bed itself was so huge he was pretty sure he could fit about five of himself in it and still have elbow room. This time he didn't stop to look around, though. He was already breathing fast, but when he stopped by practically running into the bed, he was hyperventilating. It didn't take long at all for tears to start streaming down his face when he saw Cameron. In fact, it took less than five seconds for him to start sobbing.

His little brother was bruised  _everywhere._ He had cuts—certainly not as many as he did bruises, but they were dried and crusted over with blood. He was wearing what must have been a shirt from the adult; it was a button-up that was about a million times too big for him. The sleeves were pushed up a bit, and Jonathan's breath caught when he realized why. He was handcuffed to the bed— by his wrists and by his ankles. He must have been too out of it to break out…or maybe he'd tried and just failed, because the skin around and underneath the metal was gouged and bruised even worse than the rest of him.

Cameron's head was slack; he was unconscious. Jonathan was horrified when he saw that he'd been gagged; there was cloth shoved into his mouth and tied into knots at the back of his head. Jonathan was sobbing harder, his hands pressing hard against his temples as he fought to collect himself. He looked him over again, struggling to see whether or not there were any more injuries. But he shook himself out of it, knowing there wasn't time. Jonathan was about to reach over and start unlocking him out of the first handcuff. When apparently, some of his crying must have reached his brother. His eyes were worming open.

His brother's eyes were dull and confused. He looked barely there. It took a second for him to realize who he was. But Jonathan almost wished he'd stayed confused. The second it was connecting, Cameron's eyes were going wide, and he was starting to gasp and choke around his gag. He started whimpering and crying and it was the worst sound Jonathan had ever heard in his life as his brother started to weakly struggle to reach him. But the handcuff chain was too taut. He just twitched and yanked, sobbing and looking at his brother with all the desperation in the world.

"Shhh! Cam—  _Cam_ , you're gonna be okay, you're gonna be okay, Cam!" Jonathan finally found his voice but he was mostly just sobbing. He was trying his best to sound reassuring and in control. He knew Cameron needed to feel like he was safe. And he  _was,_ he  _was_ safe! Jonathan leaned down, holding his brother's face in his hands, ignoring how bloody and sweaty it was, and he pressed their foreheads together, whispering soothingly over all his little brother's frantic wailing. "You're gonna be okay, Cam, I promise— I've got you now, Cameron, I've got you, I'm gonna make you safe again, don't worry. I love you so much!"

Cameron just kept screaming and crying. Jonathan took in a deep breath and went back to the first handcuff, getting his paper clip out again. His hands were shaking too hard. It was difficult for him just to line it up, let alone work it the right way. Cameron's crying and incoherent begging wasn't helping. Staying calm was impossible. It took him too long to do the first cuff. Way over a minute— when it fell away from Cameron's ruined wrist, he wasn't even satisfied, he just knew he had to do the other ones faster.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry Cameron," he was rambling, choking on his sobs as he leaned over to get his other arm free. He kept talking, even though his brother wasn't listening. He was just  _screaming_ , and Jonathan couldn't take it. "I'm sorry, you're okay, you're okay, Cam, I've got you, I'm getting you out of this, I promise, I am…you're gonna be okay, you—"

The lights were suddenly switched back off. "Jonathan!" He whirled around. Cornelius was standing in the doorway, terrified. Her eyes flickered between him and Cameron, and her horror tripled. Her voice was tense and desperate when she whispered: "He's back!" Jonathan's heart plummeted. "There's a car coming down the street, it might be him; we need to leave! Did you call the police?"

"N—" Jonathan looked down at his brother, still wailing. "No, I didn't, I was—"

" _Jonathan!_  You have to call the police!" Cornelius snapped. "Is there a phone!?" She turned and started rushing all over the master trying to find one. Jonathan turned back to Cam and his efforts to get him out just got more frantic. Cornelius found one and hurriedly picked it up. Her hands were shaking just as much as his were. Together they were struggling to beat the clock, but time was running out. Cornelius was saying something into the receiver, but he was only focusing on his brother. He got the other handcuff off and rushed down to his leg. Shushing all his brother's whimpers and sobs. They heard the door open and close downstairs. Horror rushed through Jonathan like someone poured ice water over him.

Cornelius hung up and rushed for Jonathan. She wrapped her arms around him and started to tug him back. He tried to fight her, trying to get back to his brother's ankle. "Jonathan—  _Jonathan_  there's no  _time!"_ she breathed. Jonathan started crying harder, struggling more. She yanked him harder. "Jonathan, the police are on their way, we need to hide! He'll be okay! We have to make sure that  _we_  are!"

Cameron was still crying. With the way he was, the man would be up here any second.

Jonathan was gradually losing the battle. Cornelius was starting to win. He was sobbing, but his voice was choked with rage when he whispered: "I'm gonna kill him!  _I'm gonna kill him!"_

"Jonathan,  _let go!"_

"I can't leave him!" Cameron realized Jonathan was being ripped away. His desperation tripled; he struggled to grab ahold of him. "I can't leave him, don't make me leave him, don't—!" Cornelius finally tore him away. He staggered, and Cameron let out a desolate scream at the abandonment. That noise tore it for Cornelius, and she spun around, yanking Jonathan to the other side of the room and yanking him into the closet. She dragged him, kicking and begging, to the back corner. She got behind a screen of jackets and forced him to sit down in front of her. She tucked her legs close and hugged him to her hard enough to make getting away impossible. And, cringing, she covered his mouth with her other hand.

He was struggling to get air through his nose alone. For a couple seconds, all they heard was Cameron crying. But then they heard a voice— the man finally reached the room. The instant Jonathan heard him, he was stiffening; his eyes went huge, and he forgot how to breathe. "Hey… _hey,_  what're you doin'?" His voice was slurred. "Stop— stop  _fightin', hey,_ your…you were tryin' to  _leave,_ weren't ya?" Cameron's screaming hitched and grew even more terrified somehow; it was only because his voice was so small at the same time they were able to hear the man, still. "You can't  _leave_...you  _know_ that— you're bein'  _bad—_ you know what happens when you're  _bad…_ you know what happens to  _naughty_ little boys like you.. _."_

Jonathan had no idea what was happening. He didn't want to. But at the same time, he  _did_. He wanted to run out there, he wanted to do  _anything._ He wanted to throw himself at whoever this was and hit them as hard and as fast as he could, refusing to stop— he might get hurt, but that was okay, it didn't matter— Cameron had been getting hurt for ages, for  _years,_ and Jonathan had never helped him. He was  _still_ not helping, he was  _still_ letting his baby brother get hurt. Tears were rushing down his face, and he started to try and fling himself out of Cornelius' grip. But Cornelius just cringed and held him tighter.

She wouldn't let go. Jonathan was forced to listen to his baby brother scream louder, sob harder. He could hear how more muffled it sounded, like the man was covering  _his_ mouth, too. Jonathan kept fighting, as Cameron started shrieking in fear, and now pain. He tried to kick out and hit the wall, but he was too far away. His expression was twisted with pain so severe it was like he was being tortured, when he heard his brother gag and cry. All it was, was garbled screeching— but Jonathan heard the  _syllables._ The way the drawn-out yelling could separate at times into three. He was yelling his name. There were no letters, but the three syllables were  _there._ He was trying to scream for him— he was begging for  _him_.

Eventually, he sagged into himself, collapsing against Cornelius and giving up. He just sobbed, so severely and so violently that he made no noise whatsoever. Cornelius flinched, and pressed her forehead against his neck. They waited for the police, like that. Jonathan had no idea how long it  _actually_ took. It felt like years.  _Years_  of listening to his brother cry, and suffer. Hearing him hurt and scream so softly but with so much pain and terror. He was positive that he would never forget it. That he would lie awake at night for  _years_ after this – possibly for the rest of his life – and he would hear his brother's shrieking still echoing in his ears, and tearing through his heart.

Until there was the sound of loud knocking.

When they heard it, they both went rigid. Most of the noise outside the closet stopped too. All that could be heard was Cameron's ragged and weak gasping. There was more knocking. Muffled yelling, from downstairs. The man cursed. Then he grumbled: "You're gonna stay  _quiet."_ There was a long period of silence. Jonathan thought he heard thrashing—  _some_ kind of fighting. But then the door shut. They heard footsteps going downstairs. He left.

They sat there for a few seconds more, shell-shocked and horrified. Jonathan jerked into motion first. He yanked himself up and out from behind all the clothes. Cornelius whispered after him, but he was running. He shoved the door open so hard he practically fell out of it. He barely caught himself and took off for his brother. He was unconscious again. The side of his face was bright red. His shirt was ripped open and it showed all the injuries Jonathan hadn't seen before. All his bruises, and even more, worse cuts. There were fresh scratches and reddened areas. The handcuffs had been put back on his wrists, and they'd been put back far too tight. The metal was gouging into his skin. New blood was staining the comforter.

Jonathan was sobbing; he put his hands on his shoulders and shook him. "Cameron?" His brother's head was limp, lolling from side to side. "Cameron!" he sobbed. "Cameron! You gotta wake up, you can't be dead, Cameron, you can't die without me! I'm  _here,_ I'm  _here_ now, you're  _safe,_ everything is gonna be fine, you gotta wake up!" He might be dead. He might be dead, he might be dead, he might be—!

"He's not dead, he's breathing!" Cornelius was suddenly at his side. He jerked, whirling around and looking at her with a stunned expression. "He's still breathing— get him out of the handcuffs, I'm going downstairs!" They could hear it all unfolding, down there. A loud confrontation— there was yelling, and shouting. Jonathan cried out and tried to grab onto her wrist to keep her back. She snatched her arm away and threw him a hard look. "Get Cameron out of the handcuffs!" she yelled again. "I'm gonna tell them Cameron's up here and he needs help! So  _start_ helping him!"

He was speechless as he watched her run away. He sniffed, and looked down at his brother again. His breath caught, at how horrible he looked. For a second he felt that sense of overwhelming shock. That sense that he was going to crumble, like he usually did whenever he helped him lay down when he got home. But, just like then, he took in a fast breath and forced it down. He steeled himself, and he got out his paperclip again.

He unlocked every chain and listened to the yelling still happening downstairs. He didn't know what Cornelius was doing— what all she was saying. He didn't know what the man was doing— if he'd hurt anyone, if he was coming back up to hurt Cameron more. He unlocked all the handcuffs and flinched at the cuts and bruises that were hiding underneath. "Cam!" he croaked. "Cam, wake up!" He still didn't. He was gone. He was still breathing, but it was too weak and shallow. It wasn't  _enough._

"I'm so sorry!" Jonathan sobbed, bending low to put his head down on his chest. "I'm so sorry, Cameron, I'm sorry! I should have helped you— I should have come out, I should have— _I should have done something_ years  _ago!"_ His shoulders heaved with every sob. He reached down and wormed his arms around his brother, and picked him up. He was so light, now, it was easy to hug him to his chest. He cradled him and rocked him, crying enough for the both of them. "I'm so sorry…" he mumbled into Cameron's shoulder. "I'm so sorry, Cameron, I'm so sorry, please forgive me…please forgive me…"

Cornelius led the way upstairs to two of the officers. The others were all staying behind. She was yelling over her shoulder about all that had happened— about how hurt he was, and how he needed help  _right now._ She led the way up and flung open the door. And, despite the situation, all three of them stopped in the doorway. All their eyes widened; all their faces fell. As they looked in shock and pity at Jonathan as he held his little brother. At the way Cameron didn't even react, limp and unresponsive, as he rocked him and held to him desperately. At the way Jonathan's lips were shaking when he kissed the top of his head, and how his voice choked and his words were just whimpers when he begged him softly: "Please forgive me, Cam…please forgive me before you die,  _please—don't die hating me_ please _don't die hating me…"_


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this is the last sad chapter, I swear I promise! The next chapter is when it all starts to pay off. I'm thinking to myself that this story is probably halfway over with this chapter. Six seems like a fitting number with what I have planned.  
> I'm usually hard on chapters that I write but nothing I did with this one made it any better so I hope you all like it more than I do. And I put a whole lot more effort into researching for this chapter than I should have, so let it be known that I DID try, so. It might be fun to exercise a bit of suspension of belief because I don't know how this specific situation would be handled and I didn't want to spend three hours finding it out so that's just the tea on that.  
> I hope you like it and if you do, I really hope I can hear it from you! I don't know how popular this fic actually is...I like to think it's semi-liked! lol Thank you for those of you that have reviewed, you have no idea how happy it makes me. Writing fics in a fandom that is this small can be disheartening sometimes...but those who support me make it so much better and make me excited to write! So thank you! <3

They were worried.

They were… _worried_ …about him…about  _both_ of them.

Emma was crying. She'd already been crying, even before she saw Jonathan, but the instant she was laying eyes on him she was running, and before he even knew it, she was wrapping him up in such a tight hug that his feet were briefly lifted up off the ground. He was smacked with shock. His eyes went wide, and he went a little numb. She held him with one arm, and her other hand reached up and held his head to her shoulder. Cornelius had been sitting by him; she looked just as alarmed as he was. Oliver was only a couple of steps behind her. He looked strained and exhausted as he looked at both of them. "You're safe!" Emma cried. Jonathan stared blankly over her shoulder. "You're safe— oh, God, you're  _okay!"_

Jonathan said nothing. He stayed that stunned silent.

The man stood up from the chair behind them. He cleared his throat. "Ma'am…"

Emma roused. Her smile was dashed. She held Jonathan for a couple of seconds more before she put him down with a tiny clear of her throat. The bemused look stayed on his face. He looked at her like he had never seen her before, even when she turned her attention back to the man that had been speaking with him before they'd arrived. "We're so sorry…" Her voice was just as choked as it had been before. Beside her, Oliver was tense, and more drawn now. "We're so sorry, we— the  _second_ we realized he was gone, we—"

"Ma'am, I know you did your best, but—"

"It was one mistake— we made a mistake!" she struggled. Cornelius went over to stand so close to Jonathan, their shoulders were pressed together. He didn't notice; he was looking between the adults with slowly-growing alarm. "We made a mistake, but— but we're  _more_  than willing to—"

"I understand, but you failed to provide care for Jonathan," they interrupted. He stiffened, and his eyes went wider. "He could have gotten hurt— he put himself in  _extreme_ danger; he's lucky he's not in the hospital, too. He could have  _easily_ been just as hurt or even  _killed_. And it was  _because_  you weren't paying enough attention to realize until too late that he snuck out." Their voice was losing its sympathetic softness the more they elaborated. Jonathan's heart was thudding down to his feet. "We cannot allow Jonathan to continue to stay with you. He  _has_ to be relocated." The final word was like a stab in his chest.

' _You'll be shuffled around from house to house, never staying in one place for very long.'_

Emma cringed. The genuine sorrow and disappointment on her face just made him more stunned. It was what got him to speak, again. "Wait…" Everyone looked at him. "You're…I don't want to go somewhere else," he objected. The person opened their mouth; but he was sweeping on, shaking his head. "I don't want to go anywhere else!" he repeated. "I want to— …I want to stay with them. I want to stay where I am."

He liked Emma and Oliver. They were different. They were nice. So much so, he didn't even know what to do with them most of the time. When they'd gotten him a cake to celebrate his birthday that was about twice as big as any cake he'd ever even seen, and they'd even sang to him, he'd had no idea what to do. When they'd offered him a chance to have a movie night, and to have the chance to be able to  _pick_ all those movies, he'd been too confused and on-edge to even pay attention to the first half of it. Emma had even hugged him goodnight last night. He  _liked_ them. They were  _nice._

"I don't want to go anywhere else," he repeated.  _"I_ left,  _I_  snuck out, it wasn't their fault, I—"

The person turned to him and smiled, getting much gentler again. "Jonathan, I understand…but you have to realize we can't just let you go back to a family that—"

"It won't happen again, I won't do it again!" He was starting to cry, now. Emma looked away, covering her mouth. "I won't do it— I just went to get Cameron, I just went to go get Cameron, now that he's back again, I won't do anything like that, I'll stay. I'll  _stay_ , I promise! I  _promise!"_  Discomfort and sorrow were seeping over their faces. "I promise I won't leave again, I won't do a single thing wrong  _ever_  again for the rest of my life, but I wanna— I wanna stay, I like their house, they're nice to me! And they would be nice to Cam, too!" Cornelius looked down to study the floor. She reached up to wipe her eyes. "Cam would love them, I know he would! He would love— all of  _his_ bad jokes. And all of  _her_ hugs!

"He would like their— their backyard, he would love how big it is! And he would love their house— he wouldn't…he wouldn't love the bedroom he'd get, because there's only one bed in it, and he— and he has to sleep next to me— he has to sleep next to me because he gets scared if he doesn't! B-But he would like everything else! And they wouldn't split us up! We'd know they'd keep us safe, and I don't want to go anywhere else because I just got used to them! I want to stay there! And Cam would, too!"

They said nothing. They were looking more and more pained with every passing second.

"Cameron would  _love_ them. And— and they have a dog!" he blustered. This was getting him crying even more. "They have a  _dog!_ He's  _always_ wanted a dog, he's  _always_ wanted one! He never wants anything—  _all_ he's  _ever_ done has been for other people! He's never wanted anything, he's never asked for anything, he's the best person ever, and that's why he might die!" he sobbed. "But he's  _always_ wanted a dog! But he's never gotten one because we've never had a parent that cares about us!

"But now we might be able to! Now we might be able to have parents that actually care about us! And want us to be happy!" He was pretty sure he was causing the biggest scene. That everyone passing him in the hospital hallway was stopping now, to look at him. But he didn't care. He just kept crying and yelling. "Now Cameron might not cry himself to sleep every night and hope I don't notice! Now Cameron might smile again! And now he might finally be able to get something that he wants!"

They were doing their best to keep their face blank. But it was getting harder and harder.

"Please let him finally have what he deserves instead of just what he's forced to take!" he pleaded. "Let him have a parent who's  _actually_ good because he has  _no_ idea what it's actually like!" He hid his face in his hands and shook his head, choking on his next, senseless beg. "Just— …just  _let him have a dog!"_

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Jonathan always saw Cameron as small. They were the same height; just like they were the same everything  _else_. But he always thought he was so small. Even before all of this happened, he saw him as smaller, but especially after all of this, the thought grew even more glaring: he was  _tiny_. It went farther than just his physical size, too— though when he stopped eating, he certainly got thinner, and therefore smaller. But it was more so just everything  _else._

 _Everything else_  about him made Jonathan think he was small. The way he looked whenever he laid down when he came home, limp in a heap on the blankets, too tired to even get underneath them. The way that, gradually, over the years, he spoke less and less, when before, he was a chatterbox. The somber, sad look on his face he'd get. The way that, seemingly for no reason at all, his eyes would just start tearing up and he would cry. How sick he would get when it had been too long since he'd had his last dose of heroin.

All these factors and more made Jonathan even surer that his little brother  _was_ littler. They made him even surer that he was tiny, and he was made of glass. Whenever Cameron threw up, he rubbed his back through it all, not even blinking, because he was so desensitized to it. Whenever he fell asleep at the table or on the couch because he was so exhausted, Jonathan would tuck a blanket around him and make sure a pillow was underneath his head okay and sleep on the floor beside him. At night, when his brother needed him to stay, Jonathan would always curl protectively around him, like he was trying to shield him. He wasn't sure  _what_ he was protecting him from. He  _wanted_ to protect him from  _everything._

Jonathan always thought Cameron was small. But looking at him now, Jonathan couldn't even  _breathe,_ he was so shocked. He had  _never_ seen Cameron so tiny. He was  _minuscule._ And  _fragile._

He was a  _fraction_  of the size of the bed he was in. He was still asleep. There was an oxygen mask on his face; his chest was just barely rising and falling. Every breath was shallow and weak. The man's shirt had been taken away; he was wearing a hospital gown, instead. His arms were resting on top of the blanket, and Jonathan's heart leaped up into his throat when he saw that his wrists were wrapped with bandages. The hospital gown was short-sleeved— his arms were upturned, and he quickly looked away from his brother's arm. The inside of his elbow was still horribly bruised and littered with puncture wounds from all the injections he'd subjected it to. Or…that he had been subjected to.

Cameron was pale, and even when Jonathan finally came into the room and came to a stop at his bedside, he didn't rouse. He had other things in his arms, that were hooked up to IVs. His heartbeat was coming from one of the machines, and even though the tinned sound seemed small, at least it was there, and steady. It was something. But even though it  _was_ something, tears still rushed into Jonathan's eyes. His lips began to tremble. His shoulders were beginning to shake.

A hand was put on his shoulder. Oliver gave him a tiny, reassuring squeeze. Jonathan sniffed and wiped his eyes before he took in a quick breath. A breath that was much too deep for the weak whimper that ended up coming out. "Cam…?" It was just a syllable, but it was trembling. As he anticipated, his brother didn't even flicker at the sound of his name. His expression crumbled even more. "Cam? It's…it's me, it's— ….Johnny," he croaked. He looked at the wires. At all the injection sites on his elbow. He cried harder. "I'm…I know I wasn't…there for you." He sniffed hard. "And I know that…you were… _really_   _scared,_ and— and you got really hurt," he sobbed. "But I'm…but I'm here  _now._ I'm here for you now…"

Still, the only sign of life from his brother was the weak rising and falling of his chest.

He gasped in hard. He started crying into his hands. Oliver pulled him closer and wrapped him up in a hug. At first, Jonathan did nothing. But then it got to be too much. He turned quickly, and hugged Oliver back, using so much force he was practically clinging to him. Oliver tensed with a little bit of surprise. But he recovered quickly, as Jonathan buried his head away into his stomach. He rubbed his back, swaying him a little bit. "It'll be okay," the man murmured. "Everything is gonna be fine, Jonathan…Cameron will be fine, and so will you…I promise. It'll  _all_  be okay." Jonathan sniffed. Oliver was quiet for a long moment before he tried: "It's late…maybe…we could leave…you could come back in the morning, and—"

"No." Jonathan pulled away fast, shaking his head when he untangled himself and picked his head back up. Oliver's face fell a little. The little boy wiped his eyes and stuffed everything down. Though his expression was raw with pain when he looked back at his brother. "No," he repeated thickly. "I— I have to stay here, I left him before, I can't leave him again. I  _can't_ leave him, I have to stay. I can't leave."

Oliver hesitated. He looked like he was going to argue. Before his eyes went back to Cameron and he ducked his head into a nod. "Okay," he relented. Jonathan perked at the easy agreement. He looked back at him with faint shock, but Oliver just smiled. "Alright," he repeated, very simply. "Then we won't."

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

"And after a long time…the boy came back again." Jonathan's voice was quiet, and soft, as he read. It was late. Cameron always loved it when he read to him or told him stories he'd memorized. So he was reading to him, now. Even though his brother was still asleep. His eyes flickered to him now, and his chest ripped with pain. When he saw the horrible bruises on his face, only worse now, and the oxygen mask he still had to wear. The way he was still rasping tiny breaths. Jonathan's eyes burned. But he took in a quick breath and just looked back down at the book. Cleared his throat a little so he could continue.

"'I am sorry, boy. But I have nothing left to give you. My apples are gone.' 'My teeth are too weak for apples,' said the boy. 'My branches are gone,' said the tree. 'You cannot swing on them.' 'I am too old to swing on branches,' said the boy. 'My trunk is gone,' said the tree. 'You cannot climb-' 'I am too tired to climb,' said the boy. 'I am sorry,' said the tree. 'I wish that I could give you something…'" His lips shook. He stared at the pages for a moment before he wiped his eyes and went on tearfully. "'But I have nothing left,'" he croaked. "'I am just an old stump. I am sorry…'"

He sniffed and snuggled closer to Cameron. He learned so that he could see the pictures on the page as if his eyes were actually open. "'I don't need very much, now,' said the boy. 'Just a quiet place to sit and rest. I am very tired.'" He cracked a smile, but it was filled with unimaginable sorrow. "'Well,' said the tree, straightening herself up as much as she could, 'well, an old stump is good for sitting and resting. Come boy, sit down.'" He choked back a hard swallow. "'Sit down and rest.' And the boy did."

Tears rushed down his face. His expression crumbled when he moved to let his head rest against his brother's. "And the tree was happy," he sniveled. He paused, letting the words hang in the air for a while. Then he closed the book and put it aside. He reached his arm out instead, to let it drape over his brother's chest, being careful at the same time not to put weight on him. He laid there with him for a while before he sniffed and shook his head. "That was always one of your favorite stories," he mumbled. "You always used to ask me to read that one. Or tell it to you again…for the millionth time."

His expression weakened again. His voice grew more tearful when he got out: "I always hated that story. I  _hated_ it. That the tree would…give the boy everything he asked for…even when he left. Even when he was awful…she always gave him whatever he wanted. And she was  _happy_ about it." He looked down and grabbed his brother's hand, drawing his thumb over the back of it. "I guess I know why you liked it," he sniffed. "Sebastian was just as bad…but  _I_  was just as bad, too…because I never did anything for you."

He turned his face so that it was pressed into the crook of his brother's neck. "I'm sorry, Cam," he whimpered. "I'm so sorry…I'm so sorry for what I let happen to you…" He fell silent after he said this. He started to choke and cry softly, clinging to his brother for dear life. A long time passed like this. Before there was a gentle touch on his back, and he turned to realize the Emma was standing behind him.

Her eyes were red from crying, but she gave him a tender smile. "The cafeteria downstairs is going to close soon…we should go down and get dinner. Just a little something…" He opened his mouth, but she already knew the answer that would be there. "We can come right back up here. I'm staying with you, tonight." Jonathan practically deflated with relief. It had been two nights, but already the system was set into place. They alternated nights— Oliver staying one, and Emma the other. They slept on the couch on the far wall, and Jonathan slept in the chair at his brother's bedside. He hadn't had to leave once.

His face fell. He hadn't eaten since noon; it was almost ten, now. He sniffled and wiped his eyes. He looked back at her doubtfully. "Can we…bring the food up  _here_  and eat?" he asked, very hesitant, not really looking at her when he did. He was still holding Cameron's hand; when he asked, his hold tightened out of a little anxiety. It was a habit. So was the fact that he was bracing himself already for her to say no.

She noticed all of these signs, and her face crowded with sorrow. But she just smiled and rubbed his back again, taking care to be gentle. "Of course we can." He brightened just a little bit. Her expression turned softer. "We can run down and get it and bring it right back. Cam won't miss us for too long."

He still hesitated. He looked back at Cameron, wilting a little like he always did when he looked at his brother. Part of him didn't want to. But he knew it would be fast. So he took in a deep breath and put a smile on his face that was much too weak. He reached out and held his brother's hands with both of his. He gave them a squeeze. "I'll be right back, Cam." His brother did nothing, but he was fast to reassure him anyway. "I won't be long at all…so you don't have to be scared, I'm gonna be right back. Okay?"

He paused as if he was actually waiting for an answer. But his brother was dead to everything.

Jonathan's smile turned waterier. He just whispered out a tiny: "…Okay."

He gave his hand one more squeeze before he let go. Already, he was anxious to leave, and the fact was plain as day when he looked at Emma and begged tensely: "Let's go. And be quick." He stiffened and rushed on fast: "Please." But he didn't need to; she was already smiling and nodding. She put her hand soothingly on his back again and started walking. He fell into step beside her. He didn't even pull away once they started out into the hall. The entire way down to the cafeteria, even in the elevator, he stuck close to her. He let her keep her hand on him. Because…though he hadn't even really realized it himself…it  _did_ help.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Jonathan  _always_ fixed Cameron's hair. Because it always came back  _messy._ He knew Cameron hated it messy. So he was fixing it for him…because Cameron was still sleeping. He wondered how long he would  _keep_  sleeping. If he would ever wake up again, or if he would always be like this, for the rest of their lives…it made him sick to think about. So he tried to just focus on putting Cameron's bangs where they belonged. After how many days he'd just been laying here, his hair was filled with all kinds of knots.

But Jonathan smoothed through them. Gently, and carefully. It was quiet; he'd somehow passed thirty minutes this way, and he was still going strong. He'd been murmuring to Cameron all day, like he always did, too. Talking about how nice the nurses were, and how good they were taking care of him. How the pediatric ICU was painted all kinds of colors, and he would love it when he woke up. How there was a picture of a giraffe in the corner because Cameron loved giraffes. He loved  _every_  animal, really. He told him all about Emma and Oliver, in the moments where they stepped out the room. How nice they were, and how he was pretty sure they already loved him even though they'd hadn't met him yet. He told him about Daisy.

He knew his brother would need to hear all of this again when he was actually awake. But he was willing to repeat himself. Sitting in the silence was too suffocating. This way, it was much easier. But he'd fallen silent a while ago, just taking to the task of making his hair okay again. He didn't want to bug Cameron…he wanted to give him space, too. Because he was pretty sure Cameron hated him. He  _deserved_ to hate him. If he did, he wouldn't fight; he had nothing to stand on. It was as simple as that.

"Hey, buddy." Oliver was sitting on the couch, already smiling even before the boy roused. Jonathan  _knew_  that look. He didn't like it. Sure enough, the suggestion came. "Let's go and get some fresh air really quick; doesn't that sound good?" Jonathan frowned, looking back down at Cameron, refusing to stop fussing with his hair. He hadn't actually left the hospital yet. He hadn't even glanced outside. Oliver and Emma brought him clothes. He showered in the bathroom to the left. He didn't  _need_  to leave the hospital, so he didn't. Sure enough, the idea of stepping out even for a second was already making him upset. Oliver could see it plainly, but he kept trying. "I'm pretty sure it's snowing out," he offered. Jonathan shrugged one shoulder. "Come on, Jonathan," he tried, still being gentle because he knew how sensitive he was. "Just a walk around the courtyard…stretch your legs with me!"

He glanced between him and his brother. His stomach hurt. He agonized for a very long time. But he felt bad. Emma and Oliver were staying here with him because they had to. Because he didn't want to leave. He was grateful they didn't make him leave like Sebastian would have. But that meant they were stuck in here, and staring at these four walls even made  _him_ feel claustrophobic at times. If he wanted to walk…maybe a little one wouldn't hurt…as long as it was  _little_. "Can we be back fast?" he asked softly, like whispering the question would make him less angry to receive it. Even though there wasn't a single shred of anger to be seen anywhere on his face. There never was. "Can we be back in…ten minutes?"

"We can be back in seven," Oliver returned.

A smile teased the edge of his mouth. But it faded when he looked back at Cameron. He smoothed his bangs aside one last time before he leaned down and whispered: "I'm gonna be right back. I'll only be gone seven minutes, I promise." He hesitated, before he gave him a kiss on his temple, over one of his many bruises. He tore himself away and followed Oliver out. They took the elevator and went down to the courtyard. It wasn't all that big, but it was a good place to stretch your legs. Nobody else was out at the moment. Jonathan realized why; he was shivering in less than three minutes.

Oliver wasn't even touched by the cold. "This is good snowman-making snow!" he declared, scooping some in his hands and making a show of surveying it. Jonathan watched him pack it into a ball. They kept walking, side by side. "Good snowball snow— perfect for fights," he remarked. He smiled down at him. "Do you and Cam like playing in the snow? Or are you guys more the sledding type? I don't mean to brag, but I know where the  _perfect_  sledding hill is; it's only a couple minutes from our house."

Jonathan studied the snow as it crunched underneath his feet. "Cameron and I have never gotten to play in the snow together," he whispered. Oliver's face fell. "We could never be outside together…someone could see. And then they'd know I wasn't him. So we never got to play outside together." Sorrow weighed heavily over the man's face. Jonathan just seemed thoughtful. A tiny smile teased over his face. "Cameron likes to build snowmen, though. I remember one time…he built one so that when I looked out the bedroom window, I could see it. He was really careful to put it in the  _exact_  right spot."

Somehow, Oliver looked got even sadder. "Cameron seems like a very sweet kid," he murmured.

Jonathan was silent. His eyes welled up with tears. "He is," he croaked. "He was… _too_  nice. I guess."

Oliver stopped. Jonathan didn't notice at first. But once he did, he turned, frowning anxiously at the look on the man's face. He got down on one knee. "Jonathan…" Jonathan wilted when he studied him in clear worry and sympathy. Thing's he'd never seen  _once_  from his own father. It made him uncomfortable; he looked down at his hands, instead. "That might be true…but it wasn't his fault," he murmured. Jonathan's eyes teared up. "This wasn't his fault…and it wasn't  _your_  fault, either. You know that…right?"

Jonathan's throat felt like it was on fire. It was all blurting out before he even really knew what he was going to say. "I could have done something." Oliver's expression flashed with acute pain, but he bit it back, giving Jonathan the chance to speak. "From the  _very_  beginning, I could have told someone, or—  _I_  could have called the police  _before_ he left, that night! I could have— I could have found him sooner before he had to— he had to— go through all— before—" He was starting to breathe faster, and choke.

"Hey, hey, hey…" Oliver soothed. He shuffled closer and put his hands on Jonathan's shoulders. The little boy was wiping his eyes and sniffing again, crying for about the millionth time that week. He felt like he couldn't stop it, no matter how hard he tried. "Jonathan…what happened to you was  _not_ fair. What happened to  _both_ of you, is something…that should never,  _ever_ in a  _million years_ happen to children." His own voice was a little thick when he said this. "A child…should  _never_ be forced to do what Cameron had to do. And a child should never have to hold a secret the way you felt like you had to.

"There are  _so many_ what-ifs…if you try to think of them all, you'll go crazy. But there are only so many what ifs because you didn't know what to do in a situation like that.  _I_ wouldn't even know what to do in a situation like that. You did what you thought was best…you took care of Cameron. And you  _did,_ Jonathan." Jonathan's lips started shaking hard. He squeezed his eyes closed as his shoulders shook. "You did the best you could.  _You're_  the reason Cameron made it through this. Without you, he might still be missing…he might still be hurting. You  _got_  him, Jonathan— to the very end, you took care of him, and you  _still_  are."

Jonathan looked at him almost desperately. He smiled. He looked proud.  _Another_ thing he'd never gotten from his father. "You did  _so_ well, Jonathan," he promised. "You got the two of you through this. You are the  _best_ big brother  _anyone_ could ask for. Cameron's going to wake up and say the exact same thing. He's going to tell you there was nothing else you could have done, and he's going to tell you how much he loves you. From here on out, there's nowhere to go but up." He paused, surveying him for a couple of seconds. Before his smile turned lighter and he added: "And as soon as Cameron is able to…I'm gonna take the two of you sledding. And you guys can play in the snow together as much as you want— all day long."

Jonathan smiled. He laughed a little. Oliver started to draw him closer, taking care to go slow, in case he wanted to pull away. And sure enough, Jonathan hesitated. But then he gave in. Oliver pulled him close and wrapped his arms around him in a hug. And, closing his eyes tightly and sniffing hard, Jonathan put his arms around his neck and hugged him back just as tightly, ducking so that his forehead was pressing down into his shoulder. Oliver squeezed him even tighter when he did.

Oliver wasn't his father.

But in that moment, Jonathan wished he was.

And for the first time in probably his entire life, he felt safe and warm in the arms of the closest thing he had to a father figure. And he didn't want to let go at all.

. . . .

Jonathan's nose was bright pink by the time they went inside. Oliver was smiling a lot more when they rode the elevator back up, and Jonathan admitted that he was too. It felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders if only a little bit. The heaviness had been there for so long he'd just started to ignore it. The way it was pressing on his lungs, making it harder to breathe. But now that it was taken off just the tiniest bit, he realized how much easier it was. How much he missed just…being able to  _breathe._

But the relief was short-lived. As it always was.

The closer they got to the PICU, Jonathan knew something was wrong. He  _felt_  it like a rock dropped hard into the very pit of his stomach. Something wasn't right. His face paled, and his heart stopped in his chest. The weight slammed back down onto his lungs. He didn't have very long to wonder what the reason for the sudden change, was. As soon as the elevator doors opened, and they stepped out over the threshold, he heard it. He couldn't  _mistake_ it.

It was screaming.

Weak, terrified screaming. Begging. Choking and crying.

And Jonathan knew exactly who it was from.

He took off. He didn't glance back at Oliver, not even when he tried to call after him. Jonathan sprinted to Cameron's room. The screaming got louder and louder. His door was already open— so many people were crammed into the room at once. So many, in fact, that some staff was just lingering outside in the hall, peering in nervously. Jonathan didn't even hesitate before he started pushing and shoving. Most people were easy to shove by. It was the nurses clustered around the bed that were harder to get through. They were all talking urgently to each other or struggling to talk to his brother and get him to listen. Jonathan screeched to a halt, going blank for a moment and just staring in horror at the scene.

His brother was awake. For the first time in days, he was awake, but he was  _confused._ And he should be. Jonathan had no idea what the last thing his brother remembered was, but it couldn't have been anything less than traumatizing. He must be under the impression he woke up right back in the thick of things— in pain, unable to move, surrounded by people he didn't know in a place he didn't know. He was sobbing and screaming and crying, all three sounds meshed together to create one horrible one. It was the same kind of cry Jonathan had been forced to listen to when he'd been in the closet— hearing it again now, he was surprised he didn't get sick right on the spot.

Cameron was struggling to get up, to break free, to do anything at all. He was thrashing and yanking in every direction as he screeched. The nurses were trying to make sure he didn't hurt himself, but they were doing the wrong thing by holding him down by the shoulders. He was screaming out incoherent begs, slurred apologies, anything at all.  _He_  probably didn't even know what he was saying _._

"Sweetheart, calm down!" one of the nurses tried.

"You're alright, honey, you're alright, just take some deep breaths!"

"You're safe, sweetie, just lay down!"

Cameron kept fighting and screeching. He was trying to hit them. He was trying anything he could. Jonathan finally got himself to move again and he rushed forward. "Cam!" he yelled desperately. Overall the noise, he couldn't be heard. "Cameron!  _Cam!"_  He tried to reach his baby brother, crying almost as hard as he was. The nurses were all pushing back against him, refusing to budge.  _"Cameron!"_

"Somebody get him out!" one of the nurses barked.

Jonathan stiffened when he felt a hand wrap around his arm. He whirled back to see one of them looking down at him anxiously. "Let's step out into the hall, honey, you—"

"No!" He started to try and yank his arm back.  _"Let go of me! He needs me!"_

"Honey, there's nothing you can do for your brother right—"

"There's  _always_ something I can do!" Jonathan screamed, before, probably with a little more force than was needed, Jonathan ripped her hand off of his. He spun around and used just as much force to push into the nurse nearest to him. He knocked her off balance and she stumbled into the nurse next to her. They both staggered, and it left just enough space to reach the bedside. His brother was still screaming, still crying, just like he was. He plastered a smile on his face, ignoring how wavery and watery it was. "Cameron!" he yelled, begging him to hear him through all his fear. He felt like his heart was being carved into. But still, he tried: "Cameron, look at me!  _Cameron_ , you're okay!"

He still kept screaming. He was trapped in whatever he thought was happening.

Jonathan closed his eyes hard and crumbled for a couple seconds like he always ended up doing. Before he took in a huge breath, snapped his eyes back open, and forced himself to lean out and grab his arm. He was gentle but firm. He didn't push it down; he pulled it  _towards_  him instead. "Cam!" he cried desperately. For a second, he still fought. Still sobbed and cried and tugged. But his head was turning towards him, more. "Cam,  _look at me!_ It's  _me,_ Cam! It's me, it's Jonathan! Open your eyes!"

Up to now, they had been closed tight, like everything was a scary movie he didn't want to see, or he was in a bad dream, trying to wake up. But something must have reached him— Jonathan's voice must have registered. Abruptly, his eyes snapped open. Jonathan's heart leaped up into his throat. His brother's eyes looked the exact same as they had at the house. He looked scared to death. Like he was trapped somewhere far away, and all he wanted was for someone to hug him and tell him it would all be okay.

So that's what Jonathan did his best to do.

"Hey…" Cameron was still gasping, still twitching, like he wanted to fight, but he was too weak to. Like he was too tired, to. The thought made him start crying uncontrollably, as he kept holding his brother's arm. Cameron was  _tired._ He was so tired…and scared, and alone…but he  _wasn't_ alone. He  _wasn't. "Hey_ …hey, you're alright…" he soothed. He reached out, being careful and slow. Cameron was crying in terrified silence as he stared at him; when Jonathan reached out to hold to one side of his face and draw his thumb back and forth across his cheek, his little brother went into a tiny spasm of fear, gasping hard and whimpering under his breath. "Hey…Cam, you're alright…it's me…it's  _Johnny._ I'm here for you. I'm here."

Cameron stared at him with huge eyes. He could see him trying to put the pieces together.

Jonathan's lips shook. He could hear how shaky and terrified each breath his brother took was. "I'm here for you now, Cam," he croaked. "I wasn't there for you before, and I let you get hurt, and I'm— I'm  _so sorry,_ I'm  _so_ sorry you had to go through that, I'm so sorry!" Everyone was staring at them. It was suddenly so silent. But all Jonathan was focused on was his little brother. "I should have done something, I should have been there for you, and I wasn't, but I'm here  _now_ , and you're okay! You're okay, you're  _safe_ — I'm going to keep you safe from here on out, I promise!"

Now, Cameron's eyes were flooding with tears. He was starting to break down. Jonathan shifted, changing so that instead of holding his brother's face, he was looping his arms around his shoulders. To hold him carefully, and rock him a little, from side to side. "I told, Cameron," he sobbed. His brother was motionless. Shocked, just lying there as he hugged him. He had no idea what his face looked like, but right now he was grateful. He didn't want to see his reaction to this. "I told, I told the police. And I know you're going to hate me, I know you told me if I did, I wasn't going to be your brother anymore…

"But I loved you too much! I loved you too much to let you get hurt like that! It was the only thing I could think of, it was the only thing I could think of to make you safe, and you were so hurt and sick, and then you were gone for so long, so I just did it! And I'm sorry, but I'm  _not_ sorry, either! I just wanted to keep you alive and it almost didn't happen! I almost lost you! I couldn't lose you, Cam!"

His brother was crying. It wasn't scared crying, anymore; it was sad, empty, heartbroken crying. Cameron sagged down into his shoulder, and Jonathan felt his tears start drenching his shirt. He held the back of his head and kept rocking him. Smoothing through his hair as he rubbed his back. "I couldn't lose you; I couldn't lose you…I love you, Cam…I love you, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry for everything, Cam, I  _am_!"

He kept going on like this. He kept crying and gasping, rambling out all these words that he didn't even really hear in the first place. All he could concentrate on was the fact that Cameron was in his arms, and he was alive. He was breathing…he was sobbing, and crying, but at least he was  _breathing._ At least he was alive. And now he was awake. He was so sorry, and he was so scared about what was going to happen…but he was so  _happy_ his brother was alive. Nothing else mattered; not right now. The only thing that mattered was that Cameron was still here. With him. And he wasn't about to go anywhere else.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Cameron couldn't relax. He stayed scared. Terrified. Jonathan had climbed into bed with him, and the second he had, his brother had practically thrown himself into his arms. The collision had almost  _hurt_. Jonathan had instantly wrapped his arms around him. He'd cradled him, pulling him into his chest. He'd felt him shaking…violently, like a leaf. His hands had gone to Jonathan's shirt and clenched the material so tightly, his knuckles went white. His eyes were wide and stricken. The nurses had lingered in the room for a while, watching as Jonathan curled around him. They'd dispersed, one by one, giving Cameron the chance to calm down. Oliver had hung back as well, watching worriedly from the corner.

Jonathan held him and rocked him and waited to see whether he would slow down. But he didn't. His breathing was still hitched— it stayed those feeble gasps, even as the minutes passed. He wouldn't stop shaking or crying. Jonathan held him even tighter, being mindful of his injuries, at the same time. "Shhh…you're okay, Cam," he began, after what felt like ages of this. Cameron whimpered, in a higher pitch as he murmured this against his forehead. Jonathan's chest ripped in pain, but he kept going anyway. "You're okay…we're both okay, Cam…we're both okay…we're both gonna be okay…"

Cameron just kept whimpering and sniffling against his shoulder. Eventually, he managed to speak. His voice was weak and paper thin. It was harder to hear him through the oxygen mask. Jonathan hesitated, but he reached down and pulled it away a little so he could hear better. Once Jonathan did, he gasped the question again, shoving out the words quickly. "Where are we?" It was nothing above a whimper.

Jonathan took in a deep breath. He put the mask back over Cameron's mouth as he tried to collect himself enough to think. "We're in the hospital," he started, picking his words slow. "You…you were really hurt, Cameron…I think…I think you almost died…" He didn't know all the injuries he'd gotten. All the words were too complicated for him to grasp. He just knew it was bad. He knew it was  _all_  bad. "I had to find you, I…I told, Cameron," he repeated. Cameron whimpered again, squeezing his eyes shut tight. He started to shake harder. Jonathan's voice started to give out a little. His lips were starting to shake, even though he was trying to stay the stronger one. "I told, and I'm sorry, but I  _had_  to do it, Cam. I  _had_ to."

He didn't open his eyes. He swallowed hard, and whimpered out again: "Where's Dad?"

Jonathan felt like he was going to be sick. The words were there, he just couldn't say them. He couldn't do it to Cameron. But he had to. "I don't…I don't know, Cameron," he confessed eventually. Cameron whimpered again and started to cry harder. Jonathan cringed, pulling away just a little so he could look at him. "The police took him away somewhere. And they took me to another family—"

He was cut off by another terrified noise; Cameron scrabbled at his shirt to cling even tighter. His breathing was so fast he was hardly exhaling anymore. Jonathan rushed to reassure him. "Hey—  _hey,_ it's okay!" he hushed. "It's okay, Cameron— Cameron, they're  _so_ nice!" Cameron stared at him with wide eyes. In the corner, Oliver ducked his head low. "They're the  _nicest_ people, Cam, and they're gonna take  _both_ of us, they won't split us up! They promised!" Jonathan smiled big, for him. "They have a nice house, and they have— they have  _movie nights_ and  _game nights,_ and they don't yell or hit or make you do anything you don't want to, and— guess what, Cam?" Jonathan leaned away even more, beaming. "They have a  _dog."_

Cameron did a tiny double-take. His breathing hitched again. He seemed confused. "They have a dog, Cam— she's  _really_ friendly, and she's a  _big_  dog but she'll still try to sit in your lap like she's little, and she'll get in bed with you and sleep right by you all night long. Her name is Daisy, and she's gonna absolutely  _love_ you when you get home— to our  _new_ home, where you won't be made to do anything you don't want to do, and where we can finally be happy again and play, and— and they said they'll take us sledding! Out in the snow! Together! Won't that be fun? We'll be able to do  _so many things._ That we couldn't do before!" He took in a fast breath. "We can be  _happy,_ Cameron," he cried. "We can be  _so_ happy, now!"

Cameron stared at him with tear-filled, still-hazy eyes. He was silent for a long time before his lips moved behind the oxygen mask. Jonathan shifted it away again. "You'll stay? With me?" he croaked again, once he could be heard.

He softened. "Of course," he vowed. "Of  _course_  I will, Cam, I'll  _never_  leave you. I swear."

Cameron didn't seem reassured. "You're not…mad at me?" he whimpered.

"No," he whispered, smoothing his hair back again. "No…no, I'm not mad at you, Cam. Not at all."

He took in another gasp. Jonathan put the mask back over his face for a second so he could breathe better. Cameron's eyes flickered to the door. Jonathan pulled the mask away again just in time for him to whisper fearfully: "Are… _they_ mad? 'm I—?" His lips shook. "'m I in trouble…?"

He shook his head and leaned out to put his forehead against his. "No," he whispered back. "No, Cam. You're not in trouble. They know you didn't have a choice. I made  _sure_  they knew." Cameron was still unsure. He was probably going to stay that way. Jonathan put the mask back, putting it back over his head so it would stay there. He bundled him close, wincing when he heard Cameron yelp. "Sorry…" At least Cameron didn't move. "You're just fine, Cam…nobody is mad…it's all going to be okay."

He sniffled. He laid against him and was silent for a moment. All Jonathan heard were his scared, shallow little breaths. Then he heard him whimper again. His voice was so strained and weak, but Jonathan understood him very plainly. Probably because he'd heard him say it so often. "I don' feel good," he choked out. Jonathan wilted. Cameron was starting to crumble, after the shock. Against all the buildup of trauma, of all the pain that was surely just coming back to him the more and more he actually woke up. "I don' feel good, I feel sick, I feel— Johnny, I don' feel good…" he sobbed.

Jonathan felt like someone was stabbing him in the heart. He had to choke back a lump in his throat. "I know," he cried, feeling a tear mark its way down his cheek. "I know, Cam…" he repeated. Over and over, knowing it didn't do much. But at least knowing it was better than nothing. And knowing…or at least,  _hoping_ …that maybe now, there would be somewhere else to go other than just empty reassurances.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Cameron kept panicking; it was just in silence. He stopped hyperventilating, but his expression stayed strained, and his vice grip stayed on his brother's shirt. They eventually found a position that was comfortable; Cameron had a broken rib on his right side. So he couldn't be on his other side, anyway. It was better for him to lay on his back. But he wanted to lay on his left, so he could duck his head into Jonathan's shoulder and not see anything. Jonathan just held him and made sure he could still breathe okay. He kept rubbing his back and whispering that he was alright.

The only noise Cameron made was his crying when he broke down every so often. Jonathan knew he couldn't help it. Whenever he noticed he was crying again, he just tried to soothe him through it. Cameron cried whenever a nurse came into the room, too. Every time the door so much as opened, he was ducking his head and sobbing quietly. He cringed and flinched whenever they touched him. Jonathan just whispered any reassurance he could think of. That it was okay, that he was right here, that it wouldn't take long…it didn't work all that well. But it calmed him down enough for the staff to do whatever they needed to.

He was in  _so_  much pain. He was miserable. Jonathan knew it was partly because he hadn't had that drug in ages. He kept trying to scratch at his arm, but Jonathan was always quick to murmur that he couldn't do that. Cameron was throwing up a lot. Jonathan knew him well enough to recognize how he was paling; he'd turn and get the little basin under his mouth in just enough time. He'd throw up, and when Jonathan set it aside and held him again, he could feel the fact he was covered in sweat.

After the fourth time he got sick, he finally broke and started to say what Jonathan had been waiting for him too. "I need it," he whimpered into his shoulder. Jonathan cringed, not surprised but just disappointed it had come so soon. "I need more, Johnny…"

"I know," he whispered remorsefully. "I know…but you can't have any."

His resounding whimper was the worst one Jonathan had heard yet. " _Please_ ," he whined. "Jus' a little more, jus'  _one more time_ , jus'  _one_ …"

"I'm sorry," he whispered, genuine remorse bathing his words. "You can't have anymore. Ever." His heart was shattered by the broken sobs that had immediately followed. He'd cried over that for a  _long_  time.  _Hours_. He never seemed to run out of tears…but he was quick to run out of  _energy_. He'd stayed awake longer than Jonathan had thought he would. But by the time it got to be around six, he was basically asleep. A couple of times he would whimper or gasp, but his eyes were begging to close.

Jonathan had noticed and had started rocking him a little, brushing through his hair. He'd started humming lullabies, knowing they had worked before. Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star, Rock-a-Bye Baby, anything he could think of. Cameron was out. There were no more whimpers or chokes— there were just little, peaceful snores. Jonathan was more than glad. Once he'd fallen asleep, Emma and Oliver had snuck back into the room; they'd stepped out for a long while to talk. Maybe to try and wait for a good time to come in an introduce themselves to Cameron. Apparently, the time had never come.

But they came then; Jonathan heard that Emma was sniffling. He turned a little, just enough to see that she was staring down at his brother with sorrow deep enough to swim in. She'd never spoken a single word to him. But right now, he could see more remorse in her expression than he had  _ever_  seen in Sebastian's. He was hung up on the look she was wearing; he was shocked by it. But when Oliver put his hand on his shoulder, he roused. He seemed worried. "You should get something to eat," he whispered. Jonathan blinked a couple of times, looking back at Cameron. "I could stay with him…while you went."

Jonathan wilted. He was silent, just looking at his brother's face— his bruises, his cut lip, how gaunt it was…and he shook his head. "No," he whispered. "I can't leave him. I'm not gonna leave him again." He said it very simply, very quietly. He snuggled back into his brother, hugging him protectively. Oliver and Emma exchanged a glance. They didn't say anything, and they didn't fight. They left, but they came back fifteen minutes later, and they put a box of food for him down on the bedside tray for later, just in case.

They both stayed the night, crammed together on the couch. It didn't look comfortable at all.

But they didn't even hesitate or complain.

Jonathan could see them, from where he was laying.

He smiled and looked back down at Cameron. Brushed his bangs back and whispered: "Everything is gonna be just fine…we're gonna be just fine."

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Cameron slept a lot. It was probably from something the doctor was giving to him. Whatever it was, Jonathan was grateful. He was so exhausted…he deserved to rest. It had been so long now, that Jonathan almost forgot what it was actually like to look at Cameron and not see those horrible bags under his eyes. To see him actually awake, and happy. Laying there, cradling him while he slept, he felt an unexpected rush of hope and excitement for that— whenever it would happen. He was willing to wait for it.

Jonathan laid there, running his hand up and down his brother's back. Emma had stayed with them while Oliver had gone to work. She was reading a book, but she glanced over at the two of them every other second. Jonathan caught the title's name:  _Children and Trauma: A Guide for Parents and Professionals._ She had a constant expression of worry. She caught Jonathan's eyes over Cameron's shoulder, and for a heartbeat, they stared at one another. She looked sad. Jonathan was sure that he did, too.

There was a tiny series of knocks on the door. It wrenched both their attentions away immediately. Without conscious thought, Jonathan curled a little more protectively around his little brother. But it was just the nurse. She was wearing the same kind, sympathetic smile she always came in with. She was holding a lot in her arms. Gauze, and tubes which must have some kind of medicine, and other stuff Jonathan didn't even know or recognize She set them all down on the bed. She realized Cameron was fast asleep; she shot Jonathan a very apologetic smile, but reached down anyway, to run her hand gently up and down his brother's arm. "Hey, Cam…" she murmured. Jonathan's heart was heavy as he looked at his brother. He wasn't waking up. "Honey, I've got to change your bandages…is that okay?"

Cameron's forehead creased. His eyes opened just a fraction, but Jonathan could tell that he wasn't awake. His stare was too foggy and disoriented. He was more staring off into space. Jonathan's eyes stung. But he shifted and eased Cameron a little bit away from him so he could be on his back. Cameron was lifeless; his eyes closed again. The nurse softened with sympathy and pity alike. But she reached down and started to unwrap his wrists. Jonathan didn't want to see the injuries. But he found that his eyes were drawn there anyway. The second they were, a pitiful choke was dying in the back of his throat.

He'd seen them before, but they'd been covered with blood. Now that they weren't, they looked even worse. Now, you could actually  _see_  them. They were  _so_ much worse than he could have imagined. He'd known there were cuts but he had no idea how  _deep_ they were. His wrists had been gouged into. The skin that wasn't torn and ruined was bright red and painfully swollen. The skin was ragged…mutilated. It painted a picture of  _horrible_  desperation. It made Jonathan sick to look at them and know that the only way they could have gotten this bad would have been from  _hours_  of thrashing and pulling against too-tight cuffs.  _Days…_ of frantic, desperate yanking that got absolutely nowhere, was written in the deep, dark red scores.

Once she unwrapped both, she began to clean the wounds. Cameron had stayed foggy and detached this entire time, but at this, the pain was so great it must have been able to break through his haze. He started to cringe and whimper, his arms twitching like he wanted to pull them away. She glanced at him, faltering. But Jonathan was quick to scoot closer. He hugged him around the shoulders, putting his forehead against the side of his brother's head as he snuggled close. "Shhh…" The nurse went back to work, after a pause. Cameron began to whimper and cry under his breath as she did. His eyes were still closed.

Jonathan still hugged him, but he reached up to stroke his cheek, too. "You're okay," he breathed. Cameron's lips trembled, but he started to quiet. The nurse was applying some kind of medicine to the wounds. His brother yelped, and Jonathan cringed. But he kept petting through his hair, down his cheek, murmuring into his ear. "She's almost done…she's almost done and then you won't hurt anymore and you can go back to sleep…it's all gonna be okay…" He kept crying, but it was much weaker. His head was falling a little, more towards Jonathan. Jonathan hugged him tighter, giving him a tiny kiss and soothing him through it as best he could. "It's alright…it's gonna make you feel better…it's gonna be okay…"

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

"Hey, Cam…is it— is it okay if I call you Cam?" Oliver asked. His voice was soft as down. His expression even more so.

Cameron didn't even look, though. He was clinging to Jonathan, staring down at the bed in abject terror. He was shaking again. Which had to hurt. But he couldn't stop. He was silent. Just like he'd been all day. Oliver's smile fractured just a little. Emma glanced at him and put her hand on his arm for a second. She took a tiny step closer to the bed. Cameron tensed all over again when he heard her voice. "Hi, Cameron…we've heard so much about you…it's so great to finally meet you." She waited, just in case he was going to say something. Or even  _look_  at her. But he did neither. She wilted but kept trying. "We've been taking care of Jonathan…we're  _so_  excited to be able to take care of you, too…do you think…you'd like that?"

His expression didn't change. He stared down at the blankets, trapped in fear.

Jonathan rubbed his back. "Cam…" he murmured. Cameron squeezed his eyes shut. "They're okay, Cam, remember? I told you all about them. About their house, and their dog, and the way they make grilled cheese." The two smiled sadly. "They're  _really_  nice people, and they already like you a lot…you'll like them too, I promise. You just have to give them a chance. I didn't think they would be good, at first…but they  _are_. I  _promise_." Cameron didn't pick his head up. Jonathan's eyes were stinging. "Just look at them. Just  _try_. It doesn't have to be for long, it can just be for a second. Just look at how nice they are!" He was frozen. Jonathan was growing more and more strained. "Cam…I'm right here, what are you worried about?"

Cameron refused to open his eyes. A whimper died in the back of his throat.

Jonathan didn't know who this person was. He'd thought before he'd had no idea who his brother was— what he'd become. But this person was so much worse. He had never seen him like this before— so detached and just  _frightened_. He didn't know what to do…nothing seemed to work. More tears stung at his eyes. Oliver touched his arm gently— a silent means of telling him it was alright. That if it was too soon, it was too soon. But Jonathan wasn't really even worried about that, even. "Cam…why are you so scared?" he whispered. Cameron still didn't react. He may as well have been hiding in a turtle shell.

Jonathan shifted just a little closer. He tried to smile, but it hurt too much. "Cam…you're okay, here, I promise." He just whimpered again. Jonathan's expression crumbled for a second before he shook himself a little and struggled to get out: "Cam…Cam, you're  _safe_  with me. You remember that, right?" His voice cracked. It was hard to continue talking because his lips were shaking so much. "I keep you safe, remember? Don't I always keep you safe? Don't…don't I…?" He trailed off, his face falling.

Cameron was cringing more and more as he said this, and at the last question, all of a sudden he broke down. He still clung to him, but Jonathan was punched in the gut when Cameron just started sobbing. Big, brokenhearted crying that took away all the air he had in his lungs. He stared at his little brother as he gasped and choked, feeling numb. Realizing how horrible the question was. When he had  _never_  kept Cameron safe. Not  _once_. He had just made it easier for Sebastian to hurt him. Every time, he had picked up the pieces…just so Sebastian could take all of them and throw them back down to the floor.

He had  _never_  helped. And when Cameron had needed him the most, when he had been held and hurt and  _tortured_  for almost a  _week_ , Jonathan had failed him. He had even been there…and he had failed him. He had promised Cameron he would keep him safe. He'd lied. The fact stared him in the face in that moment, listening to his brother. How empty and sad and broken he sounded. Tears rushed to sting his eyes. He went blind, his vision smeared so much. He breathed in a choking gasp and bit down on all his sobs. He put his head on top of his. It felt like there was a gaping hole in his chest.

"I know…" he sobbed, trying not to cry, but failing. "I know…I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…"

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Jonathan was watching his brother with open fondness. They were actually sitting up a little— they'd raised the head of the bed to the point right before it hurt Cameron, with his injured side. But they'd managed this much. Cameron was slouched a little, though, so his head was resting on Jonathan's shoulder. He was holding Cornelius' coin— she'd given it to Jonathan to keep, and he had given it to Cameron, now. He was fidgeting with it…it wasn't as good as his cards. But he was making it appear and disappear. He'd been doing that for about half an hour, silent as he kept his eyes down. His expression was dull. Sad. He looked exhausted and pale. He still looked so sick…

Jonathan was anxious to see him more like himself. He leaned a little to try and catch his brother's eyes, smiling. "Hey. Cam." Cameron's eyes flickered over to him. The coin stilled in his hands. "Why did the old man fall down the well?" His eyes flashed with a bit of his old curiosity. He didn't say anything, but he didn't look away either. "Because he couldn't see that well," Jonathan snickered, after a pause. Cameron blinked a couple times before the joke registered. A surprising amount of pain slammed into Jonathan's chest when he saw a feeble smile twitch at his lips. He wanted to see it get bigger. "What did the pirate say when he turned eighty years old?" he prompted. "…Aye matey!"

Cameron's smile got a little bigger. Jonathan heard the tiniest hint of a laugh under his breath.

He poked his shoulder. "You know, I ate a clock yesterday; it was very time-consuming."

Cameron giggled. He actually,  _truly_ , giggled. The sound was tiny, but it took Jonathan's breath away. He hadn't heard Cameron laugh in ages. It was such a small thing, but before he even knew it, he realized his eyes were stinging a little, and his throat was getting hot. Cameron's grin lingered…and yet when there was a knock at the door, it was gone. His face fell and his shoulders hunched. Jonathan wilted and looked towards the noise. Emma went to answer it. He looked back at Cameron. "Cam— hey, Cam, why couldn't the bicycle stand up?" Cameron was back to staring at the blankets. "Because it was two-tired!" Cameron just sniffed quietly. "…You get it?" he asked. "It's…because it's got…two tires…"

Cameron just cringed, when Emma came back over. She was holding a tray of food, and wearing a bright smile, despite Cameron's clear discomfort. "Look whose lunch finally came!" she sang. Jonathan smiled, but Cameron didn't. They'd ordered him something almost an hour ago. He said he hadn't wanted anything…but Jonathan knew what he liked. He'd just picked the closest thing on the menu.

She arranged the bedside table and set it up for him. As she made sure everything was in reach, Jonathan helped him sit up. It was slow going; horrible pain wrote itself across Cameron's face when he was forced to shift up more in the bed. He whimpered a couple times, and Jonathan apologized every time he did. But eventually all the food was in place, and he was sitting up enough. Emma tried to give him a smile, but he wasn't looking at her. He  _never_ looked at her or Oliver. He just stared dully at the food.

"Do you need anything else, sweetie?" Emma asked, the term of endearment just…slipping out.

Cameron's eyes flickered to her. But only for about a total of three milliseconds. His discomfort was growing. He didn't reach for the silverware. He looked at Jonathan instead, like he was confused. Jonathan just offered a shrug. "It looks good, Cam." Cameron still just stared at him. He looked from him to the tray. "What's wrong?" he asked. Cameron's grip on the coin was so tight, it was imprinting into his palm. Jonathan leaned a little closer. "Cam…c'mon…talk to me— what's wrong?"

"You…" Cameron was getting more and more stressed the longer this was taking. He was breathing faster, for no reason. Eventually, he got something out. His voice was small and fragile like every word was made of glass. "You…don't have yours…" Jonathan frowned. Cameron kept struggling to explain. Understanding was beginning to dawn over Jonathan, though. "Y-You need…your food, too, I- I can't…"

He softened. "Cam…we don't have to do that anymore," he reminded gently. Cameron's eyes widened a little. His face fell. "We don't have to eat the same things anymore. We can eat whatever we want! Dad's not here to measure it all." Jonathan could have sworn his lower lip trembled a little. "It's a  _good_ thing, Cam!" he urged. "You can go ahead; I'll get something later." He smiled. "There's no secret anymore. There's no reason to." Not that there was, before.

Cameron was wordless. Until he whispered: "I'm…but I'm not…supposed to…"

"You  _can,_ Cam." Jonathan pulled the tray closer. "Just have some! It looks good!" Cameron hesitated, staring at it with a pained, unsure gaze. Slowly, he stretched out. He grabbed the fork, staring at it a little longer, stuck in one last hesitation. Before, robotically, he took the tiniest bite. The look on his face only seemed to grow more pained when he started to chew. But it was something. However meager it was, Jonathan was willing to accept it. He just relaxed when he saw his brother eat something again.

Hoping that these couple of 'firsts in a long time's would just be the very start of him getting better.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

The doctors and nurses were all gentle; they all tried to get Cameron to engage with them, even in the tiniest way. In the morning, the nurse would smile at him and ask if he'd slept. Nurse assistants would take his blood pressure and ask what his favorite food was, or what he liked to do for fun. One doctor even blew up a glove like a balloon and drew a smiley face on it. But it was all met with the same dead silence and averted gaze. Cameron never reacted— not even to Oliver or Emma.

He barely even interacted with Jonathan. He was hanging on him still, and every time he so much as leaned away, Cameron's eyes filled with tears. But he didn't speak very much, past one-word mumbles. Jonathan realized he wasn't going to crack. That for right now, this was all he wanted: Jonathan to hug him and nothing else. He eventually stopped trying to get him to talk; he just cradled him, silent but reassuring. That was how they passed the first couple of days. Cameron shell-shocked and just tearing up silently whenever someone so much as touched him. Jonathan pretending he wasn't being eaten alive by guilt.

But it wasn't very long at all before someone new came, though.

Jonathan had been waiting. He knew it would happen. He'd just hoped they'd wait a little longer.

She walked into their hospital room with the faintest of knocks. Cameron didn't look; he just pressed his face more into Jonathan's chest. Jonathan did, though. She looked nice enough…she had curly, light brown hair. She was wearing jeans and a pastel shirt. But she also wore a badge. Her smile was soft, even before she realized Jonathan was watching. But it got even softer once she  _did_. "Hello…" Emma had been sitting anxiously on the couch, but when the woman came in, she was going to meet her. Jonathan's eyes flickered anxiously between the two of them. The stranger kept her smile when Emma approached. She began to murmur something to her; Jonathan tried to hear, but they were too far away.

He looked down at Cameron. He brushed his hair back, trying to urge him to look up. But he was stubborn and refused to budge. "Cam…Cam, I think…someone is here to talk to you." Cameron shook his head. The movement was barely anything. Jonathan weakened. "Cam…if you—" He broke off, realizing it was pointless. Cameron was already beginning to cry. The woman was finishing murmuring to Emma. Emma seemed unsure, taking a step to the side as she covered her mouth with her hand. But she didn't intervene.

"Cameron?" The woman sounded so nice. She was probably making a special effort to. It didn't keep his brother from going stiff when she addressed him. Jonathan's heart weighed as heavy as a stone when he saw how much pity and sympathy was on her face. She pulled up a chair to the bedside. Cameron's back was to her, but she didn't seem to mind. "My name is Isabella," she offered. "I'm here to talk to you a little bit, today…if that's okay…" Cameron squeezed Jonathan tighter. Jonathan grimaced, but he let him.

Isabella wasn't fettered by the silence. She just softened, leaning over to her bag. "I brought you something," she announced. "I thought you might like it." Jonathan sat up a little – ignoring Cameron's weak objection – and watched her produce a teddy bear. It was just the right size. It looked soft, to hug. Jonathan glanced down at Cameron before he wriggled out an arm to grab it himself. He gave the woman a grateful smile before he laid back and wormed it so that it was between them. So Cameron had no choice but to see what it was. He opened his eyes, tear-filled. His lower lip wavered just a little.

Isabella switched tactics. "I can see you're taking very good care of your brother, Jonathan." He hesitated but gave a little nod as he hugged him again. He hadn't been taking good care of him before. He was tempted to point that out. But he managed to keep it back. "I've heard that you've been a  _very_  good brother, throughout all of this." This, he just shrugged at. Again, he stuffed down his desire to argue. "Cameron must be very grateful to have you here, for him."

Jonathan opened his mouth, but surprisingly, Cameron beat him to it. "Please don't take him," he begged. There was so much panic and sorrow in those four words. Jonathan looked down at him with wide, sad eyes. Cameron clung tighter. "Please don't take him," he sobbed again.  _"Please…!"_

Jonathan had no idea how she remained so steady. "Honey— no one is going to take your brother away from you," she was fast to reassure. "I'm just here to ask you whether or not you can tell me a few things." Cameron's breathing still stayed a little fast. "Jonathan has already told us everything that he knows." He felt a little tug in his gut. He'd done plenty of telling. He'd first had to tell the police everything he could about the last three years…and then when they'd come here and when Cameron was still asleep, he'd said everything about that horrible night he'd found him. It hadn't been easy. He imagined it would only be worse, for his brother. "I was hoping you could tell us some of your side of the story, Cameron…"

He just pulled Jonathan even closer. Begging him silently to help.

"We can work just a little bit at a time," she pressed. "I know this is very hard for you…you're very brave for what you've gotten through." He cringed and whimpered under his breath. "I know it's a lot to ask for…but we're only asking so that we can make sure you're the safest you can be. That's all we want: for you to be safe." He stayed silent. She weakened, and her eyes flickered over to Jonathan.

"Cam…you have to do this…" His heart broke at his brother's panicked weeping. Jonathan literally pried him off, agonized when he immediately sobbed louder at the minimal distance. It was only enough for him to look him in the eyes. Desperately, pleading with him to be strong. "Cam…it won't be much, and it won't be for very long…just answer a  _couple_  questions." His brother shook his head fast, struggling to just hug back to him and hide away again. He felt awful, holding him away, even if it was only a little bit. But he knew it was important. "If you answer her questions she'll leave, Cameron. And then it'll be just us again."

He felt horrible as he watched tears streak down his brother's cheeks. As he watched him stop trying to fight to get closer. He automatically changed to clinging to the bear, instead. Hugging this much smaller thing had his side hurting a lot more. But he didn't stop. He sniffled miserably but said nothing. "Would you like Jonathan to leave while we talk?" He was already shaking his head fast before she could even finish asking. "Would you like Emma to leave?" He nodded. Emma looked regretful, but she did as she was asked. Jonathan watched her go, just as remorseful.

Isabella looked from Jonathan to him. Before she regained her sympathetic smile and scooted a little closer. She leaned down to her bag again and got out a pad and a pen. She also got out a little black box. "I'm going to record you if that's alright…" He didn't say anything. She hesitated before she cleared her throat and began. "Okay, Cameron…I was wondering if you could…tell me a little bit about your father."

A pitiful choke was muffled into the bear's fur. He didn't actually answer.

She wrote something down. "Honey…your father already admitted what he did," she said gently. "He already admitted it once we found you…we just want to hear your account. We want to make sure  _your_  voice is heard in all this, too. Could you tell me when he first asked you to stay with a grown-up? Could you tell me what he said to you? Did he…tell you what he wanted you to?"

He was silent for ages. His lips were trembling violently. Eventually, he whispered: "…Behave."

Jonathan felt like he was going to be sick.

"That's all he said?" Cameron managed just the tiniest nod. Isabella tilted her head a little bit to the side. "Could you tell me…what happened that  _first_  night, Cameron?" All Jonathan could hear were his sniffs and occasional sobs. "I know it's hard…and scary. But nobody is angry…nobody is thinking badly about you. All we want to do is help." She paused for a while more. Before she asked again: "What happened the first night, Cameron? Do you remember who you stayed with?" He hesitated before he shook his head. "That's alright…do you remember what they did? Do you remember what they told you?"

He sniffed again before he whispered reluctantly: "He told me…it was okay. He…he said there was nothing wrong…that it wasn't bad…and…" He was crying harder. Jonathan was crying more as well, just silently. "'nd he said Dad said it was okay, and that…and that Dad wanted me to," he sobbed.

"I see…" Her next words were barely a murmur. "Did he make you have sex with him, Cameron?"

He was silent for a while. Jonathan's heart felt like it was being put through a shredder. His brother didn't actually say anything…but he gave a tiny, singular nod. She wrote something down again, nodding to herself. "Do you think you could tell me a little bit of how it happened?" She was keeping her voice that gentle soft. "How did that first night happen? Can you start from the very beginning?"

Cameron's eyes opened but they were filled with tears. Jonathan reached over and started to rub his back. He sniffed and spoke in only the tiniest of mumbles. "Dad asked if…I would go…he said…he said I was his star…" The amount of sadness in his voice – the amount of regret – was awful to hear. "I…went…I think…he gave me ice cream." He sniffed. "He asked if…I'd ever kissed anyone before…I said no…" His voice was getting more and more choked. "He asked if I wanted him to teach me…and Dad told me to behave, he said I had to do what he wanted, I thought it was okay— I didn't think that it would— I'm sorry, I—"

He was starting to panic. Jonathan looked at Isabella desperately, and she cut in. "That's alright, Cameron," she soothed. He was trembling from head to toe. He buried his face more into the bear. "We can talk about something else for a while. How about you go back to talking about your dad? Were there times you didn't want to go stay with adults?" Cameron hesitated. He looked torn. "You can tell the truth, Cameron. Your father is already in trouble…being honest is the best thing you can do for yourself."

He sniffed again. Then nodded.

"What would your father say to you, when you said you didn't want to go?" she murmured.

"He'd…say…he needed me," he whimpered. "And that I was his star…" It looked like he was going to say something else, but he stopped himself before he could.

Isabella seemed to pick up on this, too. "Is that all he would say?"

Cameron was silent. His tears welled faster.

"It's okay, Cameron," she encouraged. "What would your father say to you?"

"He…" Cameron looked up at Jonathan, almost like he was asking for help.

Jonathan tried to give him an encouraging smile. He went back to rubbing his shoulder.

Isabella wasn't prompting him anymore, but she was staring intently. Waiting.

Cameron stared at Jonathan like that for a while. Before his teary eyes went down again and he whimpered it out. "He said…Jonathan would get hurt." Jonathan stiffened, his heart plummeting and his eyes flying wide. His hand stilled on his brother's shoulder. He couldn't move, especially when he kept going, every word getting him closer and closer to a full-on breakdown. The more he spoke, the more it turned into sobs, instead of words. "He said that if I didn't do it, Jonathan wouldn't get anything to eat. Or he said that if  _I_  didn't do it,  _Jonathan_  would have to," he cried. The shock made him blank at first, but with every second, horrible guilt was sinking its claws into his chest. "He said Jonathan would have to do it and I didn't— I couldn't—" Cameron couldn't finish. He just started crying.

Jonathan remembered that one night. There had been many nights like it, but it was one of the first ones. When he'd gone over to his brother's bed and sat beside him, pleading with him to just tell someone. He remembered how the more he'd pressed, the more Cameron had sobbed. Was it because of that? Because he  _knew_  what would happen if he told, but he just never said it? He thought of all the times Cameron had refused to look at him whenever he tried to persuade him to end it. How his eyes filled with tears but all he'd replied with was his simple: "You twin swore."

Was it because of that?

He felt like he was going to throw up when his own yell echoed in his head.

' _I don't want to hug you when you keep doing all of this for Dad! You_ only  _care about Dad, that's_ all  _you care about! You don't care about me so why should I hug you!?'_

' _I…I_ do  _care…'bout—'_

' _No you don't! You_ don't  _care about me, Cameron!'_

He thought of how he had yelled at him.  _Pushed_ him. Hated him, even, at times.

' _Get out of my bed, go to yours. I don't want to see you.'_

Cameron never said anything—  _when_  had Sebastian started to  _threaten_ him?

He had been staring in shock as he sobbed, but Jonathan snapped out of it. Awful guilt, regret, remorse— it was all over his face. "Cam." I was all he could manage: just a tiny croak. Before he was crying, too. He laid back down. He ignored the woman entirely, now, just reaching out and bundling his brother close. He remembered looking at him while they'd done that puzzle…  _'I_ know  _you wanna stop,'_ he'd said.  _'So why_ don't  _you?'_ He remembered Cameron's face exactly. The way he had refused to look at him. How his expression began to cloud, and he had started to bite on his lower lip, which was always a nervous habit for him. How sad he had looked. How empty he'd sounded when he'd just murmured:  _'…I dunno.'_

He  _did_ know. All the way back then, when they'd just barely turned ten…he had known.

He just hadn't told him.

He held his brother and rocked him, struggling to swallow this information.

Struggling to realize that Cameron hadn't just done this for years out of sheer devotion to their  _father_  like Jonathan always thought.

But that he'd  _also_  done this for years out of sheer devotion to  _him._

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Cameron choked, whimpering and crying weakly between every heave. Jonathan had helped him sit up just a little, in the effort to try and make it easier. They'd only gotten up about halfway, though. At least he'd gotten the basin under his mouth in time. It was in the middle of the night; the room was silent, save for the pitiful noises his brother made in between throwing up. He wasn't eating all that much, so it was difficult for him to actually stop, given that he couldn't get a lot up. It was mostly dry heaving…he'd thrown up so much today Jonathan was surprised anything came up at all. He tried to recall how many times he'd gotten sick. He thought the number was eight…but surely that was too high?

Eventually, Cameron was through. He jerked a couple more times like he wasn't sure he was finished. But after a second, once he was sure, Jonathan took the basin and put it on the bedside tray. Hopefully, someone would be in to empty it out before Cameron had to get sick again. He turned back and wrapped his arms around his skinny frame. Cameron looked half-asleep. He was covered in a cold sweat. His head was hung and as Jonathan leaned him back down to the bed again, he let it fall to rest against him.

Jonathan shifted and worked until he was laying down and Cameron was laying down with his head on his chest. He heard Cameron let out a big sigh. But this way, he also felt how violently he was shivering. In the new quiet, he could hear his teeth chattering, too. Jonathan's heart was heavy as he tried to tuck the blanket more around him. It was no use— he still kept shivering. "Do you feel a little better?" Jonathan whispered. Cameron didn't answer; he just grabbed the blanket and clung to it tightly, pulling it up to his chin and ducking his head.

Jonathan stared up at the ceiling sorrowfully. For a long couple of minutes, he just listened to his brother's teeth chattering. Listened to him gasp and choke, and felt him shiver. Eventually, he broke the quiet. "Hey, Cam…?" he whispered. Cameron only hummed, in reply. There was a lump in Jonathan's throat. It took him even longer to strum up the courage to whisper: "Why would you do all of this for me?"

Cameron sniffed. His reply was soft and weak. "I l've you…"

Jonathan's eyes stung. "You could have told me…" he whispered, tears beginning to choke him.

He just shook his head. Grimacing when that caused a wave of nausea to slam into him.

He hesitated. Before he sniffled: "I'm so sorry, Cameron…"

Jonathan thought he wouldn't reply. Until, in a tiny murmur, he returned a simple: "S'okay…"

"You got hurt…" he cried.

Cameron added, just as softly, just as earnestly: "'nd  _you_  didn'..."

Jonathan's lips shook. He closed his eyes, love and regret alike mingling to hurt his chest. He shifted to hug him like he was a stuffed animal. He leaned down to kiss the top of his head. "I love you, Cam," he breathed. "I love you  _so_ much— to the moon and back again. You're the best brother anyone could  _ever_ ask for…" He gasped in a sharp breath and got out with more difficulty: "I'm sorry for everything. I'm sorry for when I yelled. Or when I got angry with you…I didn't know…I had no idea…"

Cameron kept shaking. Pulled the blanket tighter around him. "S'okay…I l've you too…"

Jonathan was about to go on. But he just bit it all back and choked it down.

He just held him a little tighter. And tried not to suffocate on his guilt.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

"I don't want to." He barely heard it, it was so choked. With fear and desperation. "I  _can't_."

"Of course you can, Cam," Jonathan reassured sweetly. "You're doing  _great."_ Cameron was already shaking and gasping just from the effort of getting to the edge of the bed. There was a sheen of sweat on his forehead, and his eyes were glazed over with tears. He was gripping Jonathan's hand. He gave his brother's a tender squeeze, being careful not to put pressure around his wrists were the worst of the wounds were. "You're doing  _amazing,_ don't give up now." The physical therapist was hovering over the young boy, watching like a hawk with that same sympathetic, contrite smile that every staff member at this hospital fixed them with. They'd started out cheering him on, but they'd stopped now that Jonathan had taken over the responsibility. "You gotta stand up! At least just stand!"

Cameron looked like he was fighting tooth and nail not to break down. "I can't!" he gasped. Jonathan swallowed the horrible pain his brother's voice was inflicting on him. "It hurts too much, I feel sick!" He changed so he was holding to Jonathan's arms instead, gripping him a tight as he probably could. "I can't— I wanna lay back down, please let me lay back down…!"

He was in awful pain. But he kept smiling, holding to his brother's arms and bracing him more. "C'mon, Cam." Cameron immediately weakened with disappointment and frustration. "Stand up. Just a little. They wanna see you stand up, and then you can lay back down! And I'll give you a big hug, but you have to stand up first." Cameron said nothing. At least he wasn't begging anymore. Jonathan started to pull him up, taking care to be slow. Cameron whimpered and yelped, but he tried to help. He was getting up off the bed. "There you go!" Jonathan was overjoyed. Cameron was breathing fast. "Look at you! See? It's easy!"

"My side— I can't— it hurts!" he choked. "Let me— stop!"

"They said it'd hurt, but they said you still gotta try!" Jonathan objected. Cameron was crying, by now. He was standing up, but he was hunched over. "Remember what they said, Cam? You gotta straighten up. Real nice and tall!" Cameron tried, but he moved less than a fraction of an inch before the pain was too much and he froze. He was practically digging his nails into Jonathan. He shook his head, fast. Jonathan weakened. "C'mon! Stand up straight, and then you can be done!" He shook his head again. "Cameron— I know you can do it, Cam, I  _know_ you can."

"I can't, I  _can't!"_  he sobbed.

"That's quitter talk!" Jonathan struggled not to let his voice crack. "Cameron Black isn't a quitter!"

"I want to lay down!"

"As soon as you stand up! You've always said you're taller than me, now you gotta prove it."

"I don't want to…I can't…" he wailed.

"Yes, you can! I believe in you! You've got this!"

Cameron just cried harder, trembling from head to toe. His knees were threatening to buckle.

"You're doing amazing, Cam," Jonathan kept trying. "Don't worry, you're doing absolutely amazing! You're  _so_  amazing— you're The Amazing Cameron Black, you can—!"

"I don't  _want to!"_ Jonathan jerked when suddenly, Cameron screamed the last two words. It was out of nowhere, but it was so loud it grated against his throat and made Jonathan's ears ring. It was awful. The scream was brokenhearted and desolate. It hurt him more than a slap or a punch from this father ever had. And once Cameron started screaming, he was stuck. "I don't  _want to, I don't want to, I don't want to!"_ He was about to keep going. But he was crying too much; all his words started to crumble away from him. He hung his head, ending up with his forehead on Jonathan's shoulder. From there, he just started crying.

Jonathan was so sad that on the surface, he just seemed numb. He looked at the physical therapist. They looked almost mournful. He didn't ask what he should do…this was enough.

Unable to say another word, he began to lower Cameron back down to the bed.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

It was almost four in the morning. Jonathan was exhausted; he knew Cameron was even more exhausted than he was. But his brother couldn't stay still enough to fall asleep. Every ten seconds he would move. It caused him so much pain— just the tiniest shift of his weight. But he refused to stop. He would whine and move onto his back, then he would turn back towards Jonathan, his expression wrought with agony. He would shift so his arm was draped over Jonathan's shoulder, then move so it was around his side, and then just take it back entirely. Constantly whining or crying out or whimpering.

Jonathan wasn't about to try and restrain him in any way. But it had been going on for hours now, and finally, he couldn't keep it back anymore. "Cameron," he whispered; his brother cringed, just whimpering again in response. Jonathan watched sorrowfully as he rubbed his elbow hard, only because when he scratched himself there, Jonathan was always fast to take his hand away. When he rubbed it, he wasn't in as much of a rush. "Cameron…you gotta go to sleep," he mumbled.

"I can't," Cameron snapped. He kept rubbing hard at his arm. He twisted a little, and then immediately stopped, crying out again when it caused him unimaginable pain. Jonathan reached out as if to help him. But he was ducking away. "I  _can't,"_  his brother kept hissing, in that strained, weak voice. "I can't  _sleep,_  this bed is too  _uncomfortable_! I hate it, I  _hate_  this bed, I hate this  _place,_ I wanna go home!"

Jonathan repeated what he always did: "We have a  _new_ home."

"I don't want a _new one I want to go back to New York!"_ He was starting to get louder. In the corner, where they were both crammed into one hospital bed (a nurse had  _finally_ brought in an extra one), Emma and Oliver were waking up. Jonathan kept his focus on Cameron. He was getting worked up— he was gonna pull out an IV, or twist and hurt his ribs again, or rip open one of his injuries.

His eyes weren't his…the longer Cameron was left to panic, the more half-crazed he seemed to appear. He was starting to breathe faster. "I hate this place, I hate this gown, I want my  _clothes_ back! I wanna go home, I wanna be in my bed, in my house, in my  _country I don't want to be here anymore!"_ He was starting to yell under his breath. Jonathan pushed himself up a little when he saw that he was digging his nails into his inner elbow again. He reached out to try and grab his wrist, murmuring a regretful 'Shhh!' as he did. But Cameron just wrenched away from him violently.

His face fell. So did his arms. "Cam…I know you're upset," he whispered. "But you have to—"

"I just want to go home!" Jonathan wilted, closing his eyes as he listened to Cameron, knowing there wasn't a point. Sobs were starting to eat away at the edges of his words. "I just wanna go home, I don't want to be here— this bed isn't comfy and I hurt, I still feel sick and it feels like  _bugs are crawling all over me!"_ Jonathan's eyes snapped open when he felt a sudden flurry of movement. He jerked when he saw that Cameron had started to smack himself and brush harshly down his gown like he really  _was_ trying to shove off hundreds of ants. He was moving way too fast for all his injuries; tears were running down his face, but he refused to stop. He kept smacking himself, twisting and rolling and starting to freak out.

Jonathan cringed and tried to grab him. "Cam—" He flinched when his brother's grumbling and anger started to get worse. But he refused to stop. "Cam,  _calm down."_ He was forcing himself to get sterner. Forcing an edge to his voice when Cameron just fought more. "Cameron, calm  _down,_ stop  _moving like this, you're gonna—"_

"Get  _off me, I can't breathe!"_ It was four in the morning, and suddenly he was yelling. Flailing harder. " _I want to leave I want to go home I hate it here I don't wanna stay here I wanna leave! They're not helping me, they're not giving me what I need! I'm trapped!"_ Jonathan managed to finally get ahold of his wrists. He felt terrible, applying pressure to the injuries he knew were there. But he had to hold his arms down, he had to get him to relax. Cameron kept struggling. When it was apparent he wasn't going to be able to tug his arms back, though, he changed tactics to lash  _out_ , instead.

Jonathan yelped when all of a sudden Cameron started smacking  _him_. It probably didn't hurt as much as it could have, thanks to the fact he was so weak. But it still hurt, and he hadn't been expecting it. He flinched as Cameron started to smack and punch him, hitting him wherever he could. Now he was screaming.  _"I hate it here, I hate all of this, I hate all the questions and the people, I'm sick and I want to go home I want to be able to have more drugs I want to be happy again but I can't and_ you _did this to me and I hate you I hate you for doing this I hate you I hate you_ I hate you!"

Jonathan wouldn't fight back; he was just taking it. Crying and whimpering from not just the blows but everything his brother was saying because he knew he deserved it. He would have laid there all night, and still know that he deserved to be hit longer. But all of a sudden Cameron's fists stopped beating against him. Jonathan looked up from his arms which he'd raised to shield himself. Tears drenched his face, as he watched his brother being tugged back by Oliver and a couple of nurses that had rushed in.

They were trying to be gentle. But Cameron was fighting to throw himself back at Jonathan. Jonathan was so shocked and saddened he felt nothing, as he watched him thrash like a fish that couldn't breathe anymore.  _"I told you not to tell I told you not to tell and you did, I hate you! You broke your twin swear, you_ broke  _it! Get off!"_ he screeched, trying to throw the nurses aside, and fight  _them_ instead.  _"Get off of me I want to go home! I hate it here I want to leave I want more drugs I want— I want— I want—!"_

He kicked and fought for a couple longer, painstaking seconds. But gradually, he was slowing down. He was going weak and limp, gasping like he'd run a marathon when his body gave out on him. When he sagged against the mattress, horrible pain on his face. All the anger that had been burning there before was gone; when he looked at Jonathan there was nothing but sorrow and desolation. He was almost put into shock all over again by the sheer palpability of his sorrow, especially given how sudden the change was.

The nurses kept hold of him, just in case. But he was done fighting. There was nothing left.

Cameron started sobbing. Jonathan's numbness was leaving…but all that was left behind, was emptiness. He felt empty, staring at his brother. Stinging from all the punches and jabs. And listening as Cameron started to cry, in a brokenhearted, keening wail: "I want  _Dad!"_

Jonathan should not have been as surprised as he was. Maybe what he felt wasn't  _even_  surprise. But it was the closest word to it he could find. "I want Dad!" he bawled. Emma held her head in her hands; Oliver looked away, flinching. Jonathan just stared at him like he was a stranger. Like they weren't even speaking the same language. Like he was a machine and it wasn't computing. Because it  _really_ wasn't.

"I want Dad! I want my dad back, I want to see him again I want him to hug me again, I want my dad, I want Dad, I want Daddy I want my daddy…!"

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Jonathan's voice was choked. But he still tried to sing anyway. Despite the fact his throat was burning, his chest was aching, and his words were hitching with barely-withheld sons.  _"You are my sunshine…my only sunshine. You make me happy…when skies are gray."_ After Cameron's freakout, the nurses had given him something. He had cried, of course, because he  _always_  cried whenever they did something to him. He had scrabbled desperately for Jonathan, despite the fact he had just attacked him, sobbing and begging him to get them to stop. Jonathan had been crying but he had wrapped him in a hug, soothing against his panic that it would be okay, it would be over soon, just let them do it.

" _You'll never know, dear…how much I love you. So please don't take my sunshine away..."_

Cameron had screamed when they gave the shot. But not ten minutes after, he was relaxing. He had gone slack, against him, and his eyes had adopted a much more vacant, not-even-there look to them. He was awake, but he wasn't  _present._ Even now, as Jonathan sang quietly to him, he was staring numbly into space with his eyes only about a third of the way open. Occasionally, he would whimper. Or twitch, like he  _wanted_  to move, he just didn't have the energy. And it broke Jonathan's heart.

So he was singing to him. In the hopes that he would go to sleep instead.

" _You told me once, dear, you really loved me…and no one could come between…"_ Cameron whimpered again, against his neck. Jonathan cringed, inhaling fast as he just reaffirmed his hold around him. He started to rock him a little, along with the song. Begging whatever God had let this happen in the first place to take pity on his brother for once and just let him fall asleep.  _"But now you've left me…to love another."_ He squeezed his eyes shut.  _"You have shattered all of my dreams…"_

He choked back the lump in his throat and kept singing in that gentle whisper. Brushing through Cameron's hair, knowing he wouldn't last too much longer, probably, if he did that too. Cameron whimpered again, but it was weaker. His arm twitched again, but it couldn't go anywhere. His eyes were sliding closed.  _"You are my sunshine. My only sunshine. You make me happy…when skies are gray."_ Cameron sighed, and sniffed, another tear marking its way down his face. Jonathan wiped it away gently.

He thought of how they always used to play. How they'd always practiced together. How they would stay up past bedtime giggling or telling scary stories. How Cameron used to run at him with a huge hug, basically knocking him over. He thought of how Cameron had started crying every night. How he would have panic attacks that would only stop if Jonathan hugged him.

How he had looked chained to that bed.

How he had screamed. And cried. And sobbed. And begged. All while Jonathan had just listened.

" _You'll never know, dear, how much I love you,"_ he sang, the words very quickly becoming more sobs than anything else.

Cameron's breathing finally deepened. Maybe this time, he would stay asleep. Maybe this time, he wouldn't have a nightmare. He prayed for that. He prayed for any kind of respite at all. He knew he was exhausted. He knew he was running out of energy to keep fighting. He knew he had to help him, but he also knew that he had been horrible about helping. And he was still horrible about it; because this was the most he could think of doing. Cradling his brother, who was filled with some kind of medicine too strong to let him do anything other than whine. And try to sing, even though he was mostly just crying at this point.

" _So please don't take…my sunshine away…"_

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

"Cameron's going to be really excited to meet you," Jonathan pledged, the tiniest bit of desperation to the words. Emma was sitting across from him; she smiled warily. Jonathan was sitting on his hands, swinging his legs anxiously. "Any day now, he's gonna warm up, I know it. He just needs a little bit more time." He rushed to add: "But when he finally  _does_ , he's going to be so happy— and when we take him home he's going to be even happier. Eventually— you won't even remember how he is now, because…" His smile fractured. He murmured much weaker: "'Cause this just…isn't him…"

Emma's smile got a little more strained. His stomach flipped. All she said was: "I know."

He wilted. He glanced down at his lap and swallowed hard. He wanted to keep trying, but something in him told him to shut up. He just waited. It was a long, awkward silence before Oliver came back. They'd snuck away, for lunch. Cameron had been out of it all day the day before, and he was still pretty out of it today. Jonathan wouldn't have left if he thought Cameron would notice, so they'd been able to persuade him down to the café. Oliver handed him his plate, before he took the seat across from him, besides Emma.

Jonathan was about to start eating – he was finally getting back into the range of his old weight – when he stopped short. He froze mid-reach, looking back up when he realized neither of them was making a move for their own lunch. They were both just sitting there, staring at him. Nervousness started to wring his throat. "…What?" he asked. Emma looked down at her hands. Oliver was taking in a deep breath. His heart started to pick up. He began to shrink back against his chair. "I knew it…" They both perked at the accusatory fear in his voice. He shook his head. "You're not gonna take him…you don't want him anymore…"

"Oh, Jonathan…it's not like that," Emma began weakly.

His eyes were already beginning to burn. "You  _promised_." Emma's eyes were getting teary, too; it was just making it worse. "You said you wouldn't separate us, you promised me we could stay together!"

"Jonathan—" Oliver tried.

"You can't take him away from me, he  _needs_ me! I— I know he's mad right now, but he'll get better— I know he will! And— and  _if you don't take him, I'm not staying with you!"_  he blurted out. Oliver tried to interject again, but he couldn't stop. "You guys are— really nice and I like your house and I think I like you two," their eyes widened, "but if you don't take Cameron too, I don't want to be with you! I don't care, I'll— I'll run away, I'll find him again— because he needs me! I'm not letting him down again, I'm—!"

"Jonathan," Oliver cut through, louder this time. He stopped short, but he kept glaring at them, his eyes shiny. The man smiled, but there was something wrong with it. "We're not going to separate you two. We  _are_ going to take in Cameron…" Jonathan was slowly relaxing. But a frown was still worrying his face. "But…" The boy looked between the two of them. Oliver and Emma exchanged a look. It made his stomach twist even more. But it fell away completely when Oliver looked back at him and murmured: "But…we do have to talk to you…Jonathan…about something that has to be done…that you might not like…"

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

"W-…What?" Cameron whispered.

Jonathan breathed in shakily. He tried to smile. Tried not to blink because then he might cry. "It's only…for a little bit, Cam." He was whispering, too. But it was just so his voice wouldn't crack. "Only for a little bit…" Cameron was already starting to shake his head. His breathing was hitching. He recognized the beginnings of his panic attack. He'd memorized them, and now they were all falling into place. "No— no, Cam, Cam— look at me," he pleaded. Cameron did the opposite, looking at his lap as he started to hyperventilate. "It won't be for long, and when you're done, you can come right back and—!"

"I don't want to go away!" Jonathan grimaced. "I don't want to go away, I don't want to lose you!"

"Cameron, you won't  _lose_ me, you—"

"I wanna stay with you!" he cried. Jonathan jerked when his brother suddenly lashed out, grabbing him and clinging to him with a grip that was surprisingly strong. Jonathan closed his eyes, flinching harder. He tried to hug him back, gently, to calm him down. But Cameron was already shaking. "I wanna stay with you, I don't want to go anywhere else, I want you!" He was sobbing, by now. "Please don't leave me— please don't let them take me!  _Please!"_

"It's…" Tears were falling down his cheeks, now. "It's not up to me, Cam…" he rasped.

"Is it because I hit you?" he whimpered. Jonathan didn't answer immediately; he scrambled to hug him even tighter. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry I hit you, I'm really sorry I didn't mean to I promise it won't happen again! I promise I won't hit you again I'll be good I swear! Or— or you come with me!" he begged. "Can you come with me!? I'll do whatever they want me to— I'll be good, there, if you come with me!" Jonathan felt like he was going to throw up. "I promise! I swear!"

He shook his head. "I can't, Cam. It's only for you."

"I don't wanna go, though!" Cameron wailed. "I don't wanna go!"

He forced the words out. "You don't have a choice, Cam."

"I thought you said it was over!" he wept. Jonathan flinched again. "I thought you said it was okay, I thought you said I wasn't gonna be forced to do anything anymore! Why did you lie to me!? Why are you doing this to me!?"

"It's…" He could only repeat himself brokenly. "It's not up to me, Cam…"

"You're mad at me! You're mad I did all of this— you're mad I hit you!" he sobbed.

"No, Cam!" He tried to pull away so he could look at him, but his brother was clinging too tightly to him. He couldn't even budge a centimeter. He rubbed his back, to make up for it. "No, I'm not mad at you; I love you. I love you  _so_ much, I—!"

"Then  _keep me!"_ He was almost sobbing too hard to be understood. Jonathan started crying harder.  _"Keep me,_  don't let me go— if you love me,  _keep me!_  I  _need_  you, I  _love_  you— you said you missed me! You said you missed me, so keep me! I'm sorry I hit you, I'm sorry— _please_  don't do this to me!"

Jonathan didn't say anything else. There wasn't a point. He wouldn't understand.

He just stared over Cameron's shoulder, listening in silence to him beg and sob.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Jonathan woke up early in the morning— before the sun was up. And he couldn't go back to sleep. He was crying, holding his little brother as he slept. Knowing that it had the potential to be a very long time before he was able to do it again. He'd read all about the place the doctors were saying he needed to go. Cameron was refusing to read a single thing that was offered. Jonathan was trying to make up for it by telling him everything  _he_ did. Doing his best to make it sound fantastic.

He told him all about how it was perfect for him. About how there would be plenty of other kids there to play with. How he would have someone to talk to, there, who would help him face what had happened. How there was so much space to run and play outside. How they would help him get used to not having drugs anymore when he couldn't keep getting whatever the hospital was giving him. He told him how pretty and big the rooms were. How there was a  _pool_. How big the cafeteria was, and how they had all his favorites, like ice cream and waffles. How they had so many events planned, and he would be having too much fun to even  _think_  about him while he was there.

But mostly, he reminded him that it wouldn't be for very long. Hoping that that was the case.

He was leaving, today. All he knew was that they were coming in the morning, so he was treasuring the last couple of hours they probably had. Emma and Oliver got up shortly after him. Emma had left the night before and came back with all of Cameron's things. By now, all of  _Jonathan's_  clothes had been put in the drawer in his room; she just brought what had remained in the duffel bag. Jonathan had asked if she would leave Cameron's pillowcase, though…he hoped she remembered to exclude it. She was double-checking everything was together, once she woke up. Oliver left to talk to the staff for whatever final arrangements needed to be made before Cameron was released.

He was given until around nine. Before Oliver came back into the room and his apologetic frown was enough to tell Jonathan all he needed to know. His heart heavy, he started to brush Cameron's bangs back gently. His brother stirred; Jonathan drew his fingers over his forehead. "Cam…" He opened his eyes, dragging himself out of sleep. Jonathan barely got out: "It's time…"

Cameron's lips trembled. His expression was already crumbling. He took in a tiny gasp, shaking his head. "Please…" he tried one more time. Jonathan ducked his head. Cameron grabbed onto his shirt, his voice breaking when he repeated:  _"Please…_ please don't do this…please don't, Johnny…"

Jonathan swallowed hard. He had to wait for a couple of seconds, his eyes welling faster. Before he took in just as hard a breath and started to sit up. He pulled Cameron's hands off of him. His brother's resounding choke broke his heart. "We gotta go," he croaked.

From there, Cameron didn't say a single word. He just cried. Jonathan got him actual clothes, declaring that he could finally get out of the hospital gown. But Cameron didn't even crack a smile. Tears were streaming down his face; the only noise from him were sniffs and whimpers. He got the gown off, and Jonathan's stomach clenched when he saw his brother's chest again. He saw all the cuts that were healing and the bruises that were still there. How his side looked like one huge bruise. It looked horribly painful. It took his brother much longer than it should have to be able to change. When he had to stoop down and put on his jeans, he cried harder, but at least he wasn't giving up like he had when he'd first started walking.

Once they were finally allowed to, and once Cameron was dressed and ready, they started for the lobby. Cameron had a little bit of an awkward limp; his side still hurt when he walked. He'd been working on walking with the physical therapists more and more. He was just told he couldn't run or lift anything heavy for the next few weeks. He was eating more— it still wasn't a lot but it was enough to get rid of his dizzy spells. The side with the broken rib would hurt for two or three more weeks, but there wasn't a reason for him to stay in the hospital anymore. But apparently, he couldn't go home. He had to go somewhere else.

If Jonathan had it his way, he  _would_  keep him. But he couldn't fight. He'd tried, and he'd failed.

They got down to the lobby and headed for the doors that functioned as the main entrance and exit. There was a car outside with the name of the place on it…Jonathan, of course, couldn't read it. Emma had read it to him a couple times, but it never sunk in. The car  _looked_ nice. And there was someone waiting, already smiling. The kind of smile they'd gotten used to getting. Cameron had walked beside Jonathan the entire way, but now, when he saw this, he was sidling even closer, and hugging his arm. "It looks nice, Cam," he murmured. Cameron just studied the ground, trusting Jonathan to steer him.

They got outside and the person called out a cheerful, "Good morning!" Cameron flinched away from the sunlight, ducking his head into Jonathan's shoulder. When they all got close enough and stopped, her eyes went to his brother and her beam grew even more. "And you must be Cameron!" she gushed. He refused to look up. He was gripping his arm so hard he was practically digging into his skin. Jonathan gave her an apologetic look like he gave  _everyone_  that Cameron ignored. She didn't seem bothered. She was probably used to it. He hoped she was— it just meant they would be able to fix him better. She crouched down, leaning out a little to try and catch his eye. "I'm Kristin!" she chirped. He turned away even more. Still, she wasn't disappointed. "I'm very happy to meet you."

Someone got out of the driver's seat. He rounded the car and Oliver went over to meet him. They began to talk. Emma just hovered anxiously at the edge of the interaction taking place on  _this_ side of the car. Kristin was still trying to get anything out of Cam. "Is this your bag?" she asked, glancing at the duffle that Emma had brought down. Cameron peeked out, but he still didn't look at her. "Can I get it for you? I can put it in the back…is that okay?"

He ducked back into Jonathan. His lips were trembling more and more.

She softened. "I know it's hard," she offered, softer. "But I  _promise_ , it's not as scary as it seems…everyone is really excited to meet you. We told Maria that you were coming today…that's gonna be the person you're gonna talk to…she was  _so_ happy. She was talking  _all_ about all the games she had planned, and about how she just couldn't wait." Cameron was crying more— holding to Jonathan tighter. She kept trying, despite it. "And I know Maria— she's my friend. She's  _very_ nice. You're going to be in  _such_ good hands." She hesitated, her forehead creasing for a moment. Before she regained her smile and prompted: "We're all gonna try really hard to help you, Cameron…you think you could try a little, too?"

Cameron turned and grabbed desperately to Jonathan's hand. "Please don't do this." Jonathan was punched in the gut with the sheer amount of fear that was suddenly in his brother's voice. Cameron pulled back to look at him, and there was just as much fear there, as well. He was shaking, his eyes were wide. "Jonathan— Johnny,  _please."_ He was gasping. All his words were just whispers. "Please don't let them take me I don't want to go with them. I wanna stay with you!" Jonathan stared at him dismally. He was so scared, he looked insane. "Please— I'm begging you— I'm  _begging_  you Johnny, please!" he started sobbing.

Jonathan's throat was so thick he could hardly speak. "You're…gonna be fine, Cam…" he forced out.

"I don't wanna leave with them— they're gonna hurt me!"

He reached up with his free hand to wipe away some of his tears. "Nobody's gonna hurt you…"

"Yes, they  _will!_ Please just help me, I thought you loved me!" he sobbed quietly.

Jonathan began to cry. He couldn't say anything else.

Kristin must have decided she needed to put a stop to this before it got any worse. "Cameron…you have to say your good-byes." There was the tiniest shadow of regret to the words.

Cameron started crying harder. Jonathan could see those panic attack signs again. "No!" He held Jonathan's hand tighter and hugged him with the other one. Despite his cry of pain, Cameron was scrambling to get even  _more_  of a hold on him. "I don't want to!" he sobbed, loudly this time. So loud, Jonathan was sure the entire lobby was probably watching. "No, I wanna stay with you! I want you!" Kristin closed her eyes and took in a deep breath. Before she stood and walked over to him. With practiced hands and carefully-controlled force, she started to pry Cameron off, being careful of his wounds.

This got him  _screaming. "No! Stop! Stop, don't do this, this isn't fair! I want my brother!"_ Jonathan was struggling to keep his crying silent, as he did his best to help separate himself from him. Cameron's other arm was fast to be tugged off, but he was holding to Jonathan's hand with a death grip. Jonathan stared at him forlornly, begging him to just let go, all while he sobbed and screamed. His fingers were struggling to keep locked around his brother's, even when Jonathan started trying to twist them away.  _"I don't want to go! I don't want to go I want to stay, let me stay! Why do I always have to go!?"_ Jonathan cringed and grabbed his own arm, forcing himself to yank it away. Cameron's screech was too much. Jonathan had to turn his back so his little brother wouldn't see how much he was sobbing, too.

" _Johnny!"_ The other worker had come to help. They were practically dragging Cameron the short distance to the car. Cameron kicked and sobbed and screamed but it was no use. They'd done this a million times before, unfortunately. They were getting him into the car anyway.  _"Johnny, please!"_ he screamed. Anger was beginning to seep through his sorrow.  _"You said you would protect me!"_ Jonathan hung his head and sobbed into his hands. Emma rushed over and put her arms around him. Oliver was doing the same, murmuring to her that they should leave— that it would be easier on everyone.  _"You said you would make me safe, you said you would always make sure I'm okay, but you lied!"_ Cameron screeched.  _"You lied to me, I thought you loved me! I thought you_ loved me!" he screamed at the top of his lungs.

"Come on, honey," Emma whispered. Jonathan couldn't reply, or even look up, but he felt her start to lead him away, back into the hospital for now. Oliver followed, and the three began to leave.

" _I did all of this for you!"_ Cameron screamed after them; Jonathan's back was to him, so he didn't see the horrible flinch this inflicted.  _"I've done so much for you why can't you do this for me!? I thought you loved me! I thought I could count on you! I thought I could count on you for_ once _in my life!"_

Jonathan stumbled along, not trying to hide the fact he was sobbing, now.

Listening as Cameron's screaming started to fade, the further behind they left him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a much happier chapter! So the payoff is here, haha.  
> Thank you to everyone who has reviewed and left me support, you have no idea how happy it makes me! I hope you like this chapter! It is the last chapter of them as children; we're going into the show's timeline next chapter! And I've got a lot planned, so buckle your seatbelts!

"How are you getting along?"

"I'm okay…"

His eyes softened. "You still missing Cameron?"

He nodded, staring down at his lap. "Today makes two months. Since I've seen him."

"What do you think about that?" the man murmured.

"I mean…it makes me sad." Just like every Wednesday, Jonathan was sitting in the therapist's office. He was swinging his legs as he talked. The only nervous fidget he could really do since he'd forgotten his coin at home. Ever since Cameron had been taken away, he had started coming here. At first, he'd been closed off to it. But it really did help. To have someone to talk to. He was upset about so many things…he was upset he couldn't have Cam with him anymore…but he left here feeling a little lighter, at least. "I just wish they knew how long he was going to be gone. And I wish I could…know whether or not he was happy."

Andri nodded. "How have you been coping? Not knowing?"

Jonathan took in a slow breath. "It's harder to sleep at night…I just lay there wondering. And I miss having him by me…but the days are easier. Emma and Oliver are really nice. They take me to parks, and they play games…Emma's been teaching me how to speak Icelandic. I'm not very good at it." He laughed a little under his breath. "But…I'm getting better. I can do the whole alphabet. And I've been learning sentences."

"That's good! What can you say?"

He had to go slow, to translate. "Halló, ég heiti Jonathan." 'Hello, my name is Jonathan.' Andri's smile grew, and so did his. "Ég er tólf ára." 'I am twelve years old.' "Hvernig hefurðu það?" 'How are you?'

Andri nodded. "Ég er að gera gott," he returned happily. 'I'm doing good.' "That's impressive, Jonathan. Very good job!"

He swelled, at the praise. But then his smile faded. He paused for a moment, wringing his hands. Before he asked: "Do you think…you could tell me how to say…I love you…?"

Adri softened. He pronounced slowly: "Ég elska þig."

Jonathan tried it out, much slower. "Ég elska þig…" He smiled.

"Good…" he said again. Before he tilted his head and mused: "Is that for Cameron?"

He nodded. His smile grew warmer. "Yeah…I don't know whether or not they're teaching him it…they probably are. If they aren't, I'll tell him what it means, but…but I want that to be the first thing I say to him when I get to see him again. Even if he's mad at me. Even if he hates me, for what I did…" Andri frowned, but Jonathan's smile stuck. "I still want that to be the first thing I say to him." He nodded to himself. "I want the first thing I tell him to be that I love him. So much."

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

His stomach hurt. Jonathan looked down at himself for the fifth time in the past two minutes. He fidgeted with his sleeves, pulling them down more. He was shuffling his feet, shrugging his shoulders and swallowing nervously. His heartbeat was so loud in his ears that he was almost surprised he could hear Emma. "You nervous?" she asked, sounding very nervous herself. And yet she was smiling, when he looked at her. They were waiting in the lobby. Oliver was currently talking at the desk.

The two of them were standing in front of a fish tank. It stretched from the floor to the ceiling, and there was just about every fish Jonathan had ever heard of inside— along with some he'd never seen. He'd hoped that by standing here and looking at them all it would calm his nerves, but it wasn't working. He'd felt this way for nearly an entire week. Ever since he was first sat down and Emma and Oliver explained that – if he  _wanted_ to – he could come and visit Cameron for a couple of hours.

If he  _wanted_ to— of  _course_ he wanted to! It had been  _months._ It had been three months and four days exactly since he had last seen his brother. Since he had last heard his voice. Since the morning he had held him while he slept and the morning he had left him screaming in the hospital parking lot. That was the last memory he had of his brother…so ever since he was told, he was panicking. It started out as just a faint sense of anxiety, but every day it grew the more he thought. The more he wondered whether or not Cameron still hated him. Whether he was just going to yell at him more. Whether or not he would go to find his brother waiting for him, or see that stranger again, that cried and wouldn't look you in the eye. Or maybe he would find an entirely  _different_ stranger waiting for him.

That thought was the scariest. Was the thought that made his eyes sting the most.

He just wanted his brother back. That was all.

And he was  _terrified_  that once he finally saw him again, he'd find out that wasn't possible.

" _There_  you are!" Jonathan whirled around, his stomach jolting, despite the fact that the call had been more than cheerful. Without really realizing it, he was taking a tiny step to the side, so he stood closer to Emma. A woman was walking towards them. She was older, with graying hair that was pulled into a bun that was on the messier side. She was wearing a light pink sweater and jeans. She had black-rimmed glasses and already, a huge smile on her face. Oliver walked back over to join the other two. She looked between all three of them with that soft smile. "I'm Maria. You all must be here for Cameron." Jonathan's shoulders hunched a little when her eyes ultimately rested on him. "And  _you_ must be  _Jonathan."_

His hands started to wring together as his eyes flickered to the floor. Anxiety was crawling back over his face again. Immediately, he was trying to figure out what kind of inflection she had, and what that meant. Cameron talked about him to her? What did he say? Did he tell her how much he hated him for going back on his swear? Did he tell her how he never really helped him— that the whole reason he kept having to do what he did was because of him? Did he tell her how he never wanted to see him again and that was why he was staying here for so long? His throat was getting tighter and tighter.

"If you all would like to follow me?" she prompted, after shaking both Emma and Oliver's hand and flashing Jonathan one last smile, which he barely caught. "I can take you to Cameron's room— I was  _just_  starting to track him down when I was told you all were already here." Jonathan perked, his heart clenching suddenly, in his chest. "It's this way." She turned and started to go down a hall. The two adults followed, but Jonathan was stuck for a moment, staring after her. Eventually, he shook himself, rushing after to try and make up for the lapse. He stepped around Emma so he could walk by Maria. His hands stayed wringing, as he shot furtive glances at her out of the corner of his eye.

When he wasn't glancing at her, he was glancing around. He'd seen photos, but he had never actually been here, before. None of them had. It was… _nice._ It was  _really_ nice. The room closest to the lobby had to be a dining room. There were tables and chairs, and some of them were filled. A teenager was sitting with a little kid, helping them open a pudding cup. When the teenager held it out for them, Jonathan saw he was wearing a blue wristband. Two kids that looked around his age were sitting together and whispering back and forth…laughing every so often. One of them was wearing a blue wristband; the other was wearing a red one. There was a little girl sitting in the corner with her eyes fixed firmly on her plate, which she wasn't touching. There was an adult standing in the middle of the room, keeping an eye on everyone; as they walked by Jonathan saw them notice the little girl and start to make their way over to her. He tried to see what happened next, but they were walking out by the time he saw the adult crouch next to her.

There was a smaller room next to the dining area that looked like a tiny ice cream parlor. With tiled floors and everything. It was empty now and the lights were off, but there was a sign that had flavors listed on it, and barstools like you saw in the old movies. Maria turned down another hall, and they passed about a million doors. Jonathan tried to figure out what they were for, but there wasn't any telling. They  _did_ pass a door that was open, though, and Jonathan was guilty of craning his neck to try and see what was inside. He couldn't see the room itself, but were a bunch of kids and teenagers, sitting in a circle. A boy that looked just a little bit older than him was saying something. But they were walking too fast for him to eavesdrop.

He glanced back at Maria, and this time she caught the fact he did. She smiled at him almost encouragingly. She looked nice…Jonathan had never really known about Sebastian's mom. Or…their  _mom's_ mom. But when he looked at Maria, he thought that this was what a grandma would probably look like. That this was the way she would probably smile at him if he had one. The thought kind of made his chest hurt. But it was caving in for another reason, too. Somehow, he found the courage to speak. "You said…you were looking for Cameron?" His brother's name came out weaker. "Does…that mean…was he…is he out…playing?" The thought of his brother  _standing up_  for more than twenty minutes at a time was enough to knock the wind out of him. The thought of him actually  _playing_ again…?

Maria's smile was growing tenfold, with the question. "He wasn't  _supposed_ to. But he was  _begging_ to go out with Eva's group this morning to hike, and he  _knows_  I can't say no to him." Her voice was fond. Jonathan was stuck reeling on the word. Hike? Cameron was  _hiking?_ "They left at eight this morning; they were supposed to be back twenty minutes ago, so I imagine they'll be here any second now. I sent Kristin out to see what was keeping them. But I can't imagine Cameron letting them be a  _single_  second later than they already are." She flashed him a telling look. "He's been practically counting down the  _seconds_ to today." Jonathan's heart dropped again. "I made the mistake of telling him a week ago that we were thinking about allowing him to have a family visit. He's been on pins and needles ever since."

Burning, horrible, but wonderful warmth fostered in Jonathan's chest. Out of habit, he was warning himself not to get his hopes up. But he was already fighting a smile. A  _big_ one. And he found himself looking down at the ground instead as if to try and hide the fact he was. All week…just like him, he had been counting down the days. Surely it was because he was just as excited to see him? Oliver spoke up, saying exactly what Jonathan wanted to. "It sounds like…he's made a lot of progress, then?" They passed a room filled with chairs and bookshelves. There was a girl sitting in one of the chairs all by herself, reading. Jonathan's eyes went to her wrist and he frowned when he saw she was wearing the blue wristband.

"I am  _so proud_ of Cameron and all the work he has been doing." Jonathan looked back when Maria said this. He was feeling that hopeful happiness all over again. "When he first got here, he was very upset.  _Very_ closed off— he refused to speak to anyone." Jonathan's smile was fading. He remembered his brother screaming after him, and he was back to looking at the ground. "And, of course, there were other issues we had to get through in order to even begin to start making progress." He grimaced, remembering how often Cameron had thrown up, or how he had punched him, screaming that he wanted more drugs. He looked anxiously at Maria, trying to see whether or not there was impatience or irritation when she said this.

But she was nothing but happy. They went down another hall; this time it was filled with doors, and these doors were decorated. One was covered with sheets of paper with drawings of flowers on them. Another had a poster that looked like it said some inspiring quote on it. "I have been a child psychologist for almost  _fifty_  years…I've worked  _here_ for just about twenty. And I  _love_ to tell Cameron that hands-down, he has been the toughest nut I've ever had to crack." She was laughing a little when she said this. Smiling from ear to ear and shaking her head.

"But they don't call me the 'big guns' for no reason!" Jonathan cracked an unsure smile. "And he has made worlds of progress. I think you'll find yourselves  _very_ surprised." He could hardly breathe, around his desire to just  _see_ him. Already, his heart was starting to hammer. Could he see him  _smile? Actually_ smile, without him having to drag it out? Was he going to laugh, was he going to  _walk_  over and hug him? All these little things, but he had been dying to see them ever since they had left in the first place, so long ago. He hadn't even  _seen_ Cameron for  _three months._ His eyes were starting to burn out of his desperation.

She veered to the left and stopped. "Here we are!" Jonathan's eyes widened. He didn't move. Maria knocked on the door. She waited for a moment before she made a 'tsk' noise when there wasn't a reply. "He must still be out. Goodness, if Kristin's head wasn't attached to her shoulders she would be losing it. Well! We can head inside and wait, I'm sure he won't mind." She opened the door and stepped aside. But Jonathan was stuck. Maria was about to follow when she realized this; she turned to ask him what was wrong. But he was reaching out, to grab the door and push it back again, so he could look at its outside.

It wasn't as decorated as some of the others. It didn't have streamers taped to it like its neighbor did. But it had  _one_ thing. A piece of paper, taped by its back to the wood. There were stars around its outside. But Jonathan's breath was catching when he saw the bolded words in the middle, written and colored-in with marker. 'Nothing's Impossible.' His eyes started to burn even more when he read it. His lips were pressing tighter together; he reached out and put his hand against the sign. He didn't move, and Maria realized he must have wanted to be alone because she followed Emma and Oliver into Cameron's room.

She probably thought he was too distracted to hear her when she began to murmur to the adults. But, despite the emotion wringing his throat, once he realized she was talking, he was throwing an ear out to listen. "I know we've spoken about this over the phone quite extensively, but I was hoping that I could speak with you two about the steps we'll have to take, moving forward. Now, of course, it's a very tentative thought and  _hope_ that he will be able to leave soon. But we find it's best to talk earlier rather than later. Transitioning is oftentimes the hardest part…and in Cameron's case, it will be about ten times harder."

"Of course," Oliver murmured back. "Whatever we can do, just tell us." He sounded so earnest.

Jonathan slowly took his hand back. He turned and peered into the room, hesitating at the threshold before he started to creep his way inside. He felt the adults all glance at him, but he was looking at the rest of the room. He must have still seemed too distracted to pay them mind. Maria continued to talk lowly. "Cameron is a  _very_  sensitive child.  _Everything_  must be done with a great amount of care."

It was a pretty big room. It was about the same size as Jonathan's. There was a window with drapes drawn. There was a bed and a bedside table. His heart pulled, when he walked closer. Cameron had found the blanket he had packed for him. The one that was fuzzy and worn, but so soft. Jonathan's eyes softened as he reached out to run his hand over it. His eyes flickered to his pillow and he wilted when he realized the little bear that Isabella had given him was sitting there. "I have a list of what is helpful for him and what can make him upset. The list of things that can upset him is extensive…I've made a copy for you to take home with you today, so you can begin to look over it and adjust in whatever way you may need to."

There were rocks on the bedside table. Little ones, smooth ones, pretty ones. He wondered if Cameron was collecting them. The deck of cards Jonathan had packed was sitting there too…it was open. "With a case like Cameron's, we  _are_ going to be stricter about the terms that come with his going home…if he were to go home within the month like we hope, he would have to come back every other day to meet with me for at least an hour, so I can be sure he's continuing to make the progress he needs to. Obviously, there needs to be proof of some kind of commitment to ensuring there are absolutely  _no_ ways for him to come into contact with drugs of  _any_  kind. Not  _just_  heroin…"

He turned, his eye-catching on the desk near the foot of the bed. There was a little potted plant on one side. A flower looked like it was just starting to poke its way up. He glanced over his shoulder to check, but Maria's back was to him and Emma and Oliver were fully invested. There was a thick notebook sitting in the middle. He hesitated one more second before he opened it. It must have been a diary. In the upper right corner, it was dated…it was the day after he'd gotten here. His heart twisted in pain when he saw the page.

It looked like he'd started to actually try and write something. It looked like there were letters at the very top of the page, in the first line. But it was impossible to read it. Because the rest of the page was just completely black. In pen, the page was just furious scribbles. There was hardly any white left. Jonathan's heart tugged, as he pictured his brother breaking down, crying and giving up on writing, just scribbling hard all over the page instead. So hard that the page was torn towards the right upper corner. His face fell, and it only got worse when he flipped through the next few, only to see they were all the same.

After five pages of awful scribbling, there was one that only had one sentence.

_I'm tired._

The next one was just as short.

_I'm sad._

Jonathan's lower lip trembled as he flipped another page.

_I want to go home. I want to go home. I want to go home. I want to go home. I want to go home._

_All_  the way down the page. And all the way down the  _back_  of it, too.

He flipped much farther into the notebook. He sniffed, peering closer as his lip wavered again.  _Sara left, today. I'm gonna miss her. She was my best friend. But I'm glad she got to go home. She's been so excited. She told me last night she was worried her mom would hate her after everything that happened. But I saw them leave and her mom was holding her hand. Sara looked so happy. I don't know when I'm going to be able to leave. But I'm sad she's not going to be here for me to talk to before I do. I'm sad I won't have a friend to tell how scared I am Jonathan is going to hate me. I'm sad I won't have a friend to tell me he won't like I told her her mom wouldn't. I hope I'm wrong like Sara was. But the difference between me and her is that I would understand if Jonathan hated me._

There was a lump in his throat. The words blurred and smeared as his vision continued to well with water. He reached out and traced the words like he had traced the words on his sign. He sniffed, and it was the fact that his sniff came across so loud that made him realize the room had gone silent. He looked back at the adults, worried they'd noticed he was snooping. On impulse, he was expecting them to be angry. But when he turned, he realized they weren't even looking at him. They were looking at the door.

Jonathan turned, and his heart stopped. His stomach fell away from him. He forgot how to breathe.

Cameron was standing in the doorway. But…it  _wasn't_ Cameron. It wasn't the Cameron he'd seen every day for the past three years— the Cameron that was teary-eyed, and sick, and lonely. It wasn't the Cameron that would sob at night until Jonathan went to his bed and wrapped his arms around him. It wasn't the Cameron that was on drugs or screaming when he couldn't get any. It wasn't the Cameron he had had to soothe and rock and just keep together. The Cameron that never ate and passed out at the drop of a hat. It wasn't the Cameron he had had to carry upstairs because he was too tired and weak to do it himself.

That wasn't the Cameron that was standing in the doorway.

The Cameron that was standing in the doorway, was… _his_ Cameron.

He looked so much like he used to. Jonathan's breath was gone the second he laid eyes on him, it was such a shock. When he had last seen Cameron, his brother had been stick-thin. Pale and covered with bruises, and when Jonathan had looked at him, he'd been able to see the bones of his cheeks. His arms had been thin enough for him to wrap a hand around. Now…he looked healthy. He wasn't bony and pale. It didn't look like he'd gained  _all_ his weight back, but it looked like he'd gotten a good portion. His eyes weren't dull— they had their light in them again. Though right now, they were bright with nervousness, as well.

He was wearing a coat that was a little big for him. His face was a bit flushed and his breathing was a little uneven like he'd ran the entire way here. His hands were clasped in front of him, and when their eyes met, they clenched even tighter. His face was crowded with apprehension. His mouth was open like he was going to say something. But nothing came out. Jonathan couldn't speak, either. He just stared at his brother, his vision smearing more and more.

The longer the silence stretched the more nervous Cameron got. He hadn't been smiling, but now his face was beginning to fall. His shoulders were drooping and he was starting to look down at the ground. "I…" His  _voice_ was different, even. It wasn't flat and lifeless. That was the only thing Jonathan could think of. It was  _Cameron._ It was  _his_ Cameron.  _It's my Cameron…it's my_   _Cameron, it's my Cam, it's_ my  _Cam._ Cameron closed his eyes and grimaced. "Um…I…" Maria was looking carefully between them. Her expression was painfully encouraging to Cameron, but his eyes were still closed as he fumbled for words. "I…" He gasped and blew out the air just as fast like he was trying to calm himself down. "I…wanna—"

Before he could finish, Jonathan was running. He ran and threw himself at his brother, crashing into him. He practically tackled him. He threw his arms around him and did what he'd wanted to do for ages: he hugged him as hard as he could. He wasn't worried about hurting him or breaking him. He just squeezed with all his might, feeling all his tears start running down his face. He buried his head into Cameron's shoulder. He gasped in as hard as he had. "It's you!" His voice was choked. "It's  _you!"_

Cameron was frozen, his eyes huge. His lower lip began to tremble. Tears started to flood his eyes, too. He got himself to move— reaching up and hugging him back just as hard. Jonathan sniffed, shaking his head and turning to press his forehead against his neck. "I'm so happy!" he sobbed. For  _years_ , he hadn't felt this way. He hadn't felt so much relief, so much joy. This entire time, some part of him had been doubtful this could get better. But now, he felt like it could. He felt like there could be an end. "I'm so happy! I'm so happy to see you! I missed you so much!" He'd missed him for  _years_ , and he was  _finally_  back.

He pulled away, looking at him and beaming tearfully. Cameron's face was just as drenched with tears. His smile was slower, but it was there all the same. Jonathan's eyes flickered to his brother's hair, and he broke into a fit of ecstatic giggles as he reached up to fix it out of habit. Cameron smiled a little more, looking at him with mounting affection. Jonathan brushed his bangs to where they were supposed to be, still giggling out of sheer relief as he murmured: "I can't believe it, you look so good…!"

Cameron didn't know what to say. His smile was a little sadder, but it stayed there.

He was too happy to think. But it hit him like a brick when he remembered, and he lit up all over again. He took in a couple of stuttering breaths before he recited with great care: "Ég elska þig, Cameron."

Cameron lit up, too. Jonathan was a little surprised when his baby brother giggled and immediately returned, sweetly and just as practiced: "Ég elska þig, Johnny."

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

"So you like it here?" Jonathan asked.

Cameron was studying his jeans, picking at the denim. But he smiled. It was tiny but still bigger than any smile he'd given him in the past year and a half. Seeing it again made Jonathan's heart hurt. "Yeah," he replied, his voice quiet. The adults had stepped outside the door to talk. The two were sitting on Cameron's bed. He was slouched against the wall with his knees to his chest. He glanced at Jonathan and smiled a little more. "Yeah. I do." He hesitated before he added even softer: "I miss you, though."

Jonathan softened sorrowfully. "I miss you too, Cam," he replied. He stared at him a couple of seconds more, but shook his head and moved on. He didn't want to make him sad. He wanted to focus on the happy. "Tell me about it!" Cameron looked back down at his knees. He started messing with his jeans again. "How was it when you first got here? What do you do all day? Do you have friends?" He asked all the questions so fast, he was shocked Cameron could even get one of them.

His brother's voice was quieter in general than it used to be. He sounded more like himself…but so much softer. "Um…when I  _first_ got here, it…wasn't as nice…" Jonathan's face began to fall. "I was still…" Cameron winced a little. "It took a while for me to… _understand_  why I have to be here. But…but I understand now. And it's nice. I like Maria…she helps me." When Cameron moved his arm, Jonathan's heart twisted when he caught a glimpse of his wrist underneath his jacket. It was brief, but even just from what he saw, he could still see injuries. The gouges were there…they were scars, now. He didn't know how extensive they were, but given that all he saw was a tiny glance, he was scared they were worse than he knew.

He was relieved Cameron didn't realize he saw. He went on, answering all of his questions one by one. "I do a lot of stuff all day…it depends on the day. And what I wanna do. Breakfast is from seven to ten…I usually get there at eight to eat with my friends." Jonathan smiled wide at the mention of him having people here that he likes. At the fact, there was nobody being mean to him. "Most of the time you can pick what you wanna do…or choose to stay with a group. Like…I went hiking this morning. If there's an adult you can do whatever they're doing…Anton is usually the one that offers to go with people that wanna swim…"

Something about his expression changed, and he looked down at his wrist. He extended it to show Jonathan and at first, his stomach flipped; he thought he was going to show him the scars. But he realized that he couldn't see them on that hand— a wristband was covering them up. A blue one, like he'd seen on that girl in the reading nook. "I finally got my blue band!" Jonathan smiled, but it was clear he wasn't sure what he meant. "You start with a red band, and you can't go anywhere an adult isn't. If someone sees you on your own then, you get in trouble. Most people get a blue band after a month…I was late, I guess…"

He was quiet, deflating a little. Jonathan glanced at him worriedly. But Cameron was shaking himself and rushing on. "But anyway…now, when we have free time, I don't  _have_  to pick the activities they give us. If I wanna go back to my room, I can…or if I wanna read…I don't have to stay with everyone. And nobody checks on me at night anymore— I hated that 'cause they always woke me up." He pulled his arm back to himself. "They never meant to. But it was still annoying…they were just worried, though…I guess…"

"And they're nice?" he murmured. He remembered how scared Cameron had been when they'd first taken him. How scared he was that the adults were going to hurt him. Jonathan couldn't blame him for that. Even now, he eyed people that weren't Eva and Oliver with caution. It would probably be a million times worse for Cameron. "They're nice to you?" he pressed. "Nobody's been mean? Or…hurt you?"

Cameron was staring at his hands, now. He was clenching and unclenching his fingers. "No. No, everyone's…been really nice. And…they're  _all_  helping teach me their language. But I'm not very good at it…" he said, with a tiny hint of laughter. It felt like someone stabbed Jonathan, he was so happy to hear that little giggle. "No…Eva is nice…she brings in treats sometimes, like…cookies. And Kristin is really nice, too…she won't let me apologize to her about…I've tried," he laughed again. "But she's nice…she helped me tie-dye a shirt. And Anton always has fun things to do at the pool— he even…um…"

He blanched. It looked like he'd been talking too fast and wasn't thinking. Now that he caught up with himself, something seemed wrong. Jonathan started to wilt. Cameron grimaced and shrugged one shoulder, refusing to look at him. His voice came out even quieter when he mumbled: "I don't, um…I didn't wanna…swim…for a long time…he…asked why, and…" He took in a deeper breath, grimacing again. "He was the one who told me that…I could wear a shirt, when I…swim, I didn't have to…" He tried to finish it but it failed. He ducked his head a little. Jonathan could practically hear him mentally kicking himself.

He rushed to stop him before it got worse. "That's good," he forced out. Cameron looked frustrated when he opened his eyes again and stared over the tops of his knees. "That's really good, Cam…I'm glad you like it here; I'm glad the people here are helping you. That's  _really_ good." Cameron just nodded, pressing his lips together harder. He said nothing. The look on his face was getting sadder. He was looking more like he used to, and Jonathan was immediately burning with instant panic. "You have friends?" he asked, instead. Cameron's eyes flickered to him briefly. He smiled wide, for him. "Tell me about them!"

"I don't wanna talk just about me the entire time…"

"You won't," he reassured. "But— I  _wanna_ hear a lot about you, I missed you and I wanna be sure you're okay." Jonathan scooted closer and nudged his shoulder. "Tell me about your friends," he begged.

Cameron looked back at his knees. He was quiet for a second before he caved. "I have a lot of friends…some I talk to more than others…my third week, I met…this girl…she was really nice, even when I was mean to her, at first. Her name was Sara." Jonathan remembers the journal entry, but he didn't say anything. "She was a  _really_  good friend…she was my best friend. She got me to actually start…going to things and talking to people. She left about…two weeks ago. I was happy for her, but…I was sad, too. She gave me her phone number, so I could call maybe when I…" He stopped, and just ended with a shrug.

"I have other friends though," he kept going, after a pause. "This morning I ate with Inji— she's new and she didn't really wanna talk to anyone at first, but…I got her talking." Jonathan melted with happiness and pride, at the thought of his brother having gotten better enough to help others. "I ate with her and Christian. He's been my friend for a while. I'm with Adam a lot…he's nice. Abigail is hilarious. My neighbors…Birta is to the right, and I think the girl to the left is Kayla, but she just got here. Sawyer is across the hall. He and Adam are from home!" Jonathan frowned a little. Cameron was beginning to smile. "Adam is from Missouri and Sawyer is from Oregon. I guess parents really wanna send their kids here…if the situation is bad enough, I guess…"

There was a long moment of silence. Jonathan's eyebrows drew together. And his heart tugged when all of a sudden Cameron murmured: "Or…I guess…it's not…our home…anymore…" His smile was gone. He put his chin down on his knees, moving to hug his legs closer. Jonathan opened his mouth, but closed it again, with a grimace. The silence between them was suddenly suffocating. When Cameron spoke next, it was barely a whisper. "Are we ever gonna get to go home, Johnny…?" He sounded so sad.

Jonathan looked down at his lap. "Cam…there's nothing  _there_  for us anymore…"

Cameron was silent for a long time. Before he rasped: "Have you heard…anything…about Dad?"

He hated himself for the answer he had, but he knew he had to be honest. "I haven't. I don't want to know." He glanced at his brother and realized his eyes were filled with tears. He turned to face him more. "Cam…it's nice, here…Emma and Oliver… _they're_  nice. You're going to love them, and everything is gonna be okay." Cam's eyes flickered to him. He blinked, and a tear tracked its way down his cheek. "Cameron, one day this is all just gonna be…one big nightmare that we can leave behind. It's not such a bad thing to leave everything else behind, too. All we need is each  _other_. If we have that, we're okay…right?"

Cameron stared at him for a long time. Jonathan wilted when he saw he was still crying. And that even more tears were welling up in his eyes, now. His lips started shaking more. His voice came out clogged. "I shouldn't have done this," he whimpered. Jonathan stiffened, his eyes widening. "I shouldn't have done this— I shouldn't have let it go on, I wasn't thinking. I was too scared but that's not an excuse, I— Dad shouldn't have— but I wasn't helping, I— and I hurt you, I hurt you for a  _really_  long time and I'm so sorry, and at the hospital— I was awful to you when you were with me every single day, but I still…I still—"

"Cameron!" Jonathan reached out, putting his hands on his brother's shoulders. "Cameron, stop…it's not your fault, Cam. It was  _all_  Dad's. Dad should  _not_ have done what he did. He should  _not_ have forced you to do anything, and he shouldn't have used me against you." Jonathan reached out and wiped away a tear. "Don't worry about me. Don't worry about the hospital, I know you couldn't help it. You were upset, and scared, and hurt…I would be awful to hold it against you. I understand. Completely.  _Please_  don't worry."

Cameron didn't seem convinced. He looked like he wanted to fight more, but just couldn't.

Jonathan didn't let go of his shoulders. "What happened before doesn't matter. Nothing that you did to me, anyway. I didn't know…when I yelled at you…when I got mad at you back then…I didn't realize what you were actually doing." These words stuck in his throat a little. "What you did for me…I wish you hadn't…but…you were just protecting me. And it just got out of hand, and it wasn't your fault. And now you're so much  _better!"_ he beamed. "You're  _so_  much better, you look so good, Cam. I'm  _so_ proud of you!"

Cameron sniffed and looked down, reaching into his pocket. Jonathan pulled back, watching as he pulled out something small. At first, Jonathan wondered whether or not he had forgotten to take his coin back and just hadn't noticed. But when his brother held it out, he realized that wasn't it at all. It looked like a quarter at first glance. But looking closer, he saw that there were words around its edges.

'To thine own self be true.' And in the center, a proud 3 months was declared.

He looked up with a huge smile. Cameron was smiling a little, too. "No way!" he gasped. Cameron's smile grew; it was a little embarrassed. But Jonathan was radiating pride. "You got a coin!? Cameron, that's so amazing! Three months!?" He nodded, actually looking happy again. Jonathan was worried he was going to start crying, he was so happy. "That's amazing, Cam! I'm  _so_  proud of you!" He leaned over and hugged him tightly. "I'm so proud, Cam," he repeated. "You're doing so well…I'm so proud of you." He ducked his head into his shoulder and murmured softer: "I'm so proud to be your brother, Cam…"

This made Cameron's shoulders shake more, and he sniffed again harder this time. "You're not mad at me?" he whimpered.

Jonathan pulled back to look at him. His eyes were burning. He kept his arms around him. "I could never be mad at you, Cam," he breathed.  _"Never._  Not for this. You did so much for me…I could  _never_ repay you for what you did. I swear to you…I'm not mad. Not for any of it. I'm just so happy you're here…and you're safe, and you're happy. You're happy, aren't you?" Cameron smiled a little, albeit watery. He didn't do anything at first. But then he gave a couple of small nods. "That's all I want. All I want is for you be like this…this is all I've wanted for ages, and we can finally have that. We can finally  _have_ it again…"

Cameron's eyes flickered to the door. Discomfort began to replace his smile. Jonathan figured it had been coming, but he was still sad to see it leave. "Are… _you_ …happy?" he whispered slowly.

Jonathan thought. About how Emma made breakfast every morning. About how patient she was when she taught him words and pronunciations. About how Oliver offered to take him to the movies, and when Jonathan had cautiously told him that he wanted to wait for Cameron to get home before he did anything big, he hadn't been angry. How they all talked at dinner, instead of just sitting in silence. How he was getting a hug before bed, now, and he hadn't even asked for it. "Yeah…" he murmured. Cameron stared at him doubtfully. But Jonathan just smiled. "Yeah, Cam…I'm really happy, with them."

Cameron glanced at the door again but looked away fast. "And…they're…um…" He was clenching his hands again. Jonathan wondered if that was because he was trying to hide the fact they were shaking. "They're not gonna…split us up?" he whispered like he was afraid of them hearing. Jonathan wilted. But it was nothing compared to the pain he felt when Cameron asked: "Do they…do they still…want me…? Even…?"

"Of course, Cam." Cameron's shoulders hunched. "Of  _course_  they want you. You should  _see_ what Emma is doing to your room— she asked me what your favorite color was the other day,  _just_  so she could paint the walls that color instead." He curled up tighter, anxiety still clear on his face. "Oliver has a  _list_  of what he wants to do when you come home…he wants to go to the movies, he wants to take us sledding, he wants us to teach him magic…they're  _great_ , Cam. And they are… _so_ … _so_ excited to meet you."

He said nothing. He just tugged his sleeves down a little more.

"…You wanna meet them?" he offered quietly.

At first, he was a statue. Jonathan was beginning to hope he might say yes. It seemed for a second like he would. But then he closed his eyes and shook his head. Jonathan was washed with disappointment at the refusal. "No, I…I…can't, I—" He cringed. "I can't meet them…not yet…"

Jonathan stared at him. Remembering how he'd cried for their dad. He wondered whether or not he still missed him. But he knew right now wasn't the time to ask. He just scooted over to lean against him, and pull him closer. Cameron rested his head on his shoulder, staring sadly at the wall across from them. "Okay," Jonathan said, simply. "You don't have to, Cam…we can save that for another day, if that's what you wanna do." Cameron hesitated but gave a tiny nod. Jonathan just hugged him tighter and mimicked it.

"Talk about you," Cameron pleaded softly after a moment. Jonathan was hurt by the yawning sorrow that was suddenly in his voice. How tired he suddenly sounded, out of the blue. "I miss you…"

Jonathan softened and leaned so his head was resting on his. He smiled, just because he missed being this close to him. He missed staying up late at night talking and laughing with him, and this wasn't nearly the same thing, but it was the closest they'd had in years. So he started to smile again as he complied. "So…I don't think I really told you about Cornelius…"

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

"How soon?" she asked, already smiling huge.

But it was nothing compared to the beam on Jonathan's face. He looked ready to burst; excitement was layered thick over his voice when he chirped: "Eight days!" Cornelius smiled even bigger. The two of them were playing Monopoly, but Jonathan was finding it nearly impossible to focus. Not after he'd been told this morning. He'd kept back the news for as long as possible, but he was surprised he'd managed to hold it in this long in the first place.

"Eight days, and we can go and get him!" Jonathan was practically bouncing up and down. After four months and twenty-one days, they'd gotten a call last night, and they'd been told that Cameron was ready to come home. They'd had someone here a while back, to make sure it was a good home. Jonathan had been all too happy to very enthusiastically say that being here was perfect. Emma and Oliver had been talking more and more about what they would have to do when Cameron got here…and now it seemed the time had finally come. "We're gonna get him in the morning! I'm gonna show him the house and then if he wants to, we're going to take him out to lunch!" He shook his head and added pointlessly: "I'm so excited!"

Cornelius laughed. "I hadn't noticed." But she was quick to add: "I bet he's just as excited."

Jonathan softened, glancing down at the board. "I bet he's more nervous…" he corrected. "But…he'll see. He'll see how much better it is here. And how much happier we can be. And until then…I'll be there for him. I'll protect him this time." Cornelius looked at him fondly as he rolled the dice and moved his piece. He had to pay her rent, but he didn't care. He was on cloud nine. "Everything is just going to be so great when he gets back…he's going to be happy, and he's going to laugh again, and we'll finally be together and we'll finally be  _happy._ I don't feel right without him with me. And  _finally…_ it's just…it's gonna feel right." He looked at her and grinned. "And you can finally meet him! I told him all about you!"

"Only the good things, I hope," she laughed.

He softened. "You're  _all_ good things."

Her grin turned more embarrassed. But she smiled at him for a long moment before she looked back at the game and snorted, reaching over to take her money. "Well I hope he's better than you are at playing Monopoly because you have like five dollars left," she snickered. Jonathan wasn't even bothered by the jab. He just laughed and looked back down, trying to focus. But he knew the effort was pointless. It was impossible. Nothing was impossible— but  _this_ was. He  _couldn't_  think. About anything.

Other than the fact his baby brother was finally okay enough to come back to him.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Jonathan's hands were pressed against the glass. His nose was practically against it too. He was grinning from ear to ear, bouncing up and down in his seat. Emma was twisted around in her seat, watching him with an expression that was soft and adoring. Oliver's was just as much so. The little boy was practically shining, and it was wonderful to see. She was laughing just a little when she asked: "Are you ready?"

Jonathan jumped even more. He somehow got even closer to the window. "I'm  _so_ ready!" he cheered, and the two giggled at his eagerness. "Let's go, let's  _go!"_ They both laughed and shared a mutually excited-yet-apprehensive glance before they turned and got out of the car. Jonathan instantly flung his own door open and shot out of his seat. The adults were walking but he was sprinting across the parking lot towards the main entrance. He was almost halfway there when the door opened and Jonathan's heart stopped when he saw his brother step outside. Maria was walking close beside him, a hand on his shoulder.

She was saying something; he stopped and she crouched down to be on his level, still speaking. He gave her a hug. She softened as she hugged him back. Jonathan couldn't wait through their moment, though. He was halfway when he let out the loudest scream he could muster.  _"Cameron!"_ His brother whirled around, stunned at first. But Jonathan started laughing when he saw the smile that spread over his face. Cameron took off running too. Jonathan flung out his arms, and they slammed into each other with so much force it was a miracle neither of them were knocked over.

Jonathan clung to him, laughing and sobbing at the same time as he hugged his brother around the waist and held his head close to him. Cameron held to him like he was the only thing keeping him standing. But he wasn't. The days where he was so weak he couldn't stand, where he was too tired to support himself, were long gone. He'd run to him because he couldn't wait, he was hugging him because he wanted to. He was crying but it was because he was so happy. Jonathan lifted him, just enough to spin him in a circle, and it actually took  _effort_ to get him off the ground. He stumbled and nearly fell, but it was worth it to hear Cameron's giggles get louder and to see how big his smile was.

He looked even better than he had before. He laughed again, lunging out to hug him a second time. Shorter, but just as hard. Cameron squeaked, but he didn't wriggle away. And he was still grinning when Jonathan let go. "You're here, you get to come home!" Cameron's smile weakened a little, but he nodded. Jonathan grabbed his shoulders, and then his cheeks, then he had to hug him again. "I've been so excited I have the whole day planned you're gonna love it! I'm gonna show you the house and the backyard and you'll get to meet Daisy and then we're gonna go out someplace and then we can play outside!"

Cameron started to say something when he suddenly clammed up. Emma and Oliver had caught up to them and were now standing behind Jonathan. The second he saw them and realized they were staring, discomfort was crawling over his face. He shuffled a little closer to Jonathan. Jonathan frowned, looking between them. He put his arm around his shoulders, looking at him with worry. "Cameron…this is Emma. And this is Oliver. I told you all about them…and I told you how excited they are to see you." They both smiled, but Cameron was looking more down towards his feet. Maria was watching carefully, again. Jonathan weakened and leaned closer to beg quietly: "Cameron…just  _try…?"_

He hesitated but glanced up after a moment. Jonathan was very aware that he looked at Oliver for only a couple split seconds before he was turning to Emma instead. His hands were wringing. Emma smiled wider, more hopefully…he just glanced down again. Jonathan was deflating until his heart skipped a beat when Cameron offered a tiny, shy: "Hi."

It wasn't much, but Emma was over the moon. "Hello, Cameron!" she gushed. He fidgeted but said nothing. She leaned down a little. "I'm  _so_  happy to meet you."

Oliver added in: "We've been looking forward to having you."

Cameron fidgeted again, more noticeably this time. He glanced at Oliver and Jonathan could see the clearer sense of unease, when he did. His heart tugged as he looked at him apologetically, but Oliver didn't seem to mind. He just looked at Cameron's bags and asked: "Can I get those for you?"

Cameron took in a deep breath and said: "No, that's okay…I got it…thank you." Very quietly, but firmly. Oliver cracked a tiny, slightly awkward grin. Cameron shifted to stand more by Jonathan.

"Oliver, if you can come with me, there are a couple more forms I need to have you sign…and a schedule we need to agree upon," Maria said. Her expression was kind and soft when she looked at Cameron and nodded encouragingly. Suddenly, he was very nervous, looking at her. "I'll see you in a couple of days, Cam…remember everything we talked about." He didn't seem so sure. She put a hand on his shoulder. "You'll be just fine," she said, softer. "You're going to do amazing things, Cameron Black. I just know it." His lower lip began to tremble and quickly, he dropped his bags, rushing for one last hug. Despite the fact he was going to be back fairly soon, from Jonathan's perspective the goodbye seemed so final.

It felt a little weird, in that moment…realizing that he probably didn't know Cameron as well as he used to. Maybe…he would  _never_ know him as well as he used to. The instant the thought occurred, his stomach was churning. He picked up his brother's bags as he murmured one last goodbye to her before drawing away. Cameron seemed alarmed for a second when he turned and his bags were gone, but he smiled when he saw Jonathan had them. He smiled encouragingly, and jerked his head as if to say: 'Come on.' Cameron brightened. Oliver and Maria went back inside. Emma herded them to the car.

Jonathan put his things in the trunk, then he got into the back with him. His brother was eyeing everything around him with open wariness. He'd buckled up already, but he was fidgeting still. Jonathan reached over and put his hand on top of both of his. Cameron looked at him, and he could see fear there. Not nearly as potent as it had been before…but still there. Jonathan squeezed his hands a little. "It's gonna be good, Cam," he whispered. "I  _swear_  to you…it's  _going_  to be good. Okay?"

Silence reigned; it was heavy. Cameron searched his face like he was trying to find a lie somewhere. But he must have come up empty. Jonathan brightened, and Cameron drafted up his own smile. He moved to hold back to his hand, squeezing just as much. "Okay…" he whispered. Jonathan nodded, urging him on. "Okay," he repeated, just a  _fraction_  surer. "Yeah…it might be."

"It  _will_  be," Jonathan vowed. "It'll be  _great."_

His little brother nodded again. His head barely moving.

He squeezed his hand one last time.  _"I'm_  your big brother," he reminded in a soft murmur.  _"I'm_  gonna take care of  _you_ from now on." He should have done it from the beginning. So the least he could do was try again. He would protect Cameron with every ounce of strength he had. From every adult that could find him like the adult had found him in the grocery store. He would protect him from drugs. From every kid that might be mean to him, from every little thing that could run the risk of making him sad. He would protect him from disappointment, from loneliness, from fear. He would protect him from any kind of harm.

Sitting there and holding his hand, still sensing the fear his brother was barely keeping hidden, Jonathan promised himself he would be there for Cameron for the rest of their lives— it didn't matter how old they got. He would always love him fiercely, and protect him just as much so. He would do  _whatever_  he had to do to make him happy, and to make him love life just as much as he used to.

He didn't care  _what_  it would be, he didn't care what it would take.

He would do it for him.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

They let Cameron be the first one inside the house. Of course, he practically refused to go in unless Jonathan was one step behind. He watched his brother anxiously, tracking his every emotional change. Cameron looked daunted. By the windows that were everywhere, not drawn shut to keep out the world. By the blankets that were still on the couch from the last movie night. By the kitchen that didn't look practically empty. By the bright colors of the walls, and just…the actual  _life_ the house seemed to have.

He was silent, as he took it all in. Jonathan couldn't help but think he seemed small, again, standing in the middle of the room, curling into himself. Ducking his head and drawing up his shoulders. He took a couple of steps closer to him. "What do you think, Cam?" He made sure his voice was soft as down. Emma and Oliver were waiting by the door, their hearts in their throats as they waited tensely for his answer.

He didn't give one, at first. He just kept looking around. But, eventually, he spoke. "It's…nice," he whispered. Oliver grinned— Emma let out a heavy sigh of relief. He started to look towards Jonathan and ask him something when he was cut off by a sudden noise. It was loud and startling, and Jonathan felt horrible when Cameron jumped about a foot into the air, and his face flooded with panic. He reached out and grabbed his hand again to settle him down, but Cameron was whirling around towards the sound, just in time to see Daisy barreling down the hall for them.

She was barking her head off, overwhelmed with excitement. Cameron barely even had time to register the fact it was a dog before she was slamming into him. She knocked him clear over and pinned him to the ground. Oliver started to rush over, already snapping at her to get off. But after he got over the initial shock, Cameron was looking up at her with huge eyes. And Oliver stopped when he realized that there was the tiniest smile tugging at his lips. He slowed, and Emma did too, both of them looking anxious. But Jonathan just looked overjoyed. He'd known it would happen— it was one of the moments he had been looking forward to because he knew without a doubt Cameron would fall in love immediately.

Sure enough, when Daisy bent down and started to lick his face, Cameron was trying to wiggle away, and he was starting to laugh. He giggled and snorted when she refused to stop sniffing him. It wasn't long at all before he was grinning from ear to ear. "That's Daisy!" Jonathan chirped. "She  _loves_ people! And she loves to sleep by you! She's been staying in my room, but you can have her tonight! You can have her  _any_  night!" At first, Cameron had kept his smile, listening to Jonathan while he reached up to pet her. She was loving the attention; her tail was going a million miles an hour. But at the last part, Cameron's smile was fading. He kept his hands on Daisy's head, but he twisted to look up at him. Something was wrong.

"What?" Jonathan asked. Cameron said nothing. "What, Cam, what's wrong?"

Daisy ran off, probably to get her ball for Cameron to throw after he'd paid her some attention. He sat up when she left. His expression was still strained, and instead of standing, he kind of started to curl his legs up to himself instead. "We're not…?" Jonathan titled his head to the side. Cameron grimaced, half in awkwardness, half in frustration. "Is there not…do we have…separate…?" He cringed again.

Jonathan understood. His face fell, too. "Yeah." Cameron was trying to hide his reaction, but Jonathan pretty much saw right through it. He knelt beside him. He glanced down at his hands, in his lap. "The rooms aren't really…big enough for two beds…" Cameron curled his legs up all the way to his chest. He mumbled a tiny, hollow-sounding 'Oh.' Emma and Oliver exchanged glances. "But…I think you're right next to me!" Jonathan tried, already expecting the fact that it did nothing to help. He couldn't blame him. The last thing he wanted to do was be apart from Cameron, especially now. He was just better at hiding it.

He put on a smile. "C'mon— I can show you your room! And I can show you mine!"

Cameron's smile was gone. Jonathan already missed it. He leaned out and grabbed his brother's hands, purposefully not looking, to avoid seeing the scars around his wrists. He hoisted him up, hopping a little. "C'mon, they're just down here…" He started to tug him into the hall. Emma and Oliver stayed where they were, neither of them sure how much to push themselves onto him right now, if they even did at all. He hadn't looked at or spoken to them at all the entire way there. He'd clammed up in the car…especially when Oliver had gotten in. Even going up to the house, he had studied the ground.

Now, as Jonathan pulled him away, his eyes flickered to them briefly. So briefly…barely even long enough for Emma to even start thinking of smiling back at him. Before he was snatching his head back front, hunching his shoulders and rushing after his brother, fighting to be closer. She wilted. She'd known it would be hard. She'd known that with Cameron it would be  _very_ hard. Cracking  _Jonathan_ had been hard enough, but this was going to be a million times worse. Tension was left to hang in the air when the two boys ran away. They didn't know what to say to each other.

Eventually, she murmured: "I hope this is the right thing…"

"It is," Oliver asserted. "Don't worry." But she could tell that he was having difficulty taking his own advice. "Everything is going to be fine."

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

"Do you want something else to eat, Cameron?" Emma asked, guilt and worry saturating her words.

He was staring down at his plate. Not a single thing was touched. Jonathan was watching anxiously, noticing the way he was crossing his arms and digging his nails into his skin like he was trying to keep ahold of himself. At her question, he shook his head, very fast and very tense. He didn't look up. "No thank you," he whispered. His voice was shaking a little bit. "I'm not hungry…"

"It's good, Cam," Jonathan tried weakly. Cameron just shook his head again, in the same fast, frightened way. He wilted and shot Emma an apologetic look. He knew she had been worrying about what Cameron liked to eat so she could make things he would enjoy. He knew she'd been excited for his 'Welcome Home' dinner for a week, now. And he wasn't even touching it. But of course, Emma just met his sad glance with a reassuring smile. He turned back to his brother and prompted: "Maybe…we can wrap up your plate and you can have some later when you  _are_ hungry?" Cameron glanced at him. Hesitated, before he gave another nod, in the exact same furtive way.

Jonathan looked at Emma, and she smiled, taking his plate and going to the pantry to get the plastic wrap. He scooted over a little, pained as he looked at his brother closer. "You okay…?"

Oliver asked: "You want some ice cream?" Cameron flinched, ducking his head even more. "Jonathan told us ice cream was one of your favorites."

Jonathan thought that he'd just flinched because he hadn't been expecting Oliver to speak. But his flinch was just getting worse, and more uncomfortable. Jonathan wilted at the distress on his face— at the fact he was digging his fingers more into his arms. His stomach turned violently when he remembered something his brother had said in the hospital.  _'I…went…I think…he gave me ice cream.'_  He leaned over and pried Cameron's closest hand off of himself, so he could hold it. When Cameron opened his eyes again, they were glassy with tears. Jonathan scooted a little closer. "You just…wanna go to bed…Cam?"

He clung back to his hand and nodded, even faster this time. Jonathan nodded, too. Emma took his plate as well, shooting him one last pained smile. He didn't need to get a bedtime hug like he usually did. He just reaffirmed his hold on his brother. He guided him out of the kitchen and down the hall, to the room that was just a wall over from his. It had all the same furniture, like the bookshelf and the desk.

Emma had asked what color Cameron liked— Jonathan hadn't been sure since it might have changed, but he remembered when they were nine Cameron had liked blue, so she had changed the walls from gray to that. Jonathan had already taken it upon himself to take Cameron's favorite blanket and spread it over the comforter again and put the bear by his pillow. He'd arranged it just like he'd seen it before. He let go of his hand once they crossed the threshold and shut the door. He kept his voice soft. "Cam…" Cameron looked at him, and the expression on his face hurt him so much. So Jonathan put a smile on his face and revised what he was going to say. "…You can take all the time you need. There's no rush."

He looked guilty. All he could manage was a tiny mumble. "It's…just…hard…"

He sounded so sad.

He'd wanted to ask the question ever since he first heard Cameron cry it. It had been bottling itself on his tongue for ages, and he still wasn't sure it was the right time or way to ask. But eventually, he forced himself to. "Do you really miss Dad?" he breathed. Already dreading the answer.

Cameron looked away. His hands were wringing, and pulling up against his chest. He was flinching again, but this time it was worse. He didn't answer for a long time. Every second was an eternity. His voice was choked with tears when he replied: "I…don't…miss…what he…it's complicated, I can't…" He sniffled and cringed deeper. His voice was hollow and defeated. He reached up and hid his face. He said nothing else.

He felt sick, staring at his brother. He felt even worse for pressing, but this question fell out just like his last one did. " _Why_ , Cameron?" His brother grimaced even harder. "He…Cameron, he's the whole  _reason_ …" He trailed off. Cameron looked at him miserably; there seemed to be a lifetime of regret and suffering on his face. "He hurt you…he _forced_ you to… _be_  with all those adults, he…he gave you  _drugs_ , he hit me, he yelled at both of us, he…" The more things he listed, the waterier Cameron's eyes grew. Jonathan's chest felt like there was a yawning hole in the middle of it. "Cam…they're so much  _better_ than he was," he tried weakly. "They're nicer, all they want is for us to be happy, they  _already_ love you." He shook his head.  _"How_ can you miss him? When you have…someone like  _Oliver_ , who already wants you to be happy?"

Cameron closed his eyes tightly. He didn't say anything. He just kept crying.

Jonathan wondered whether it was because he didn't have an answer, or whether it was because he just didn't want to say it.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Jonathan's eyes opened slowly. He laid there for a few seconds, cloudy and fuzzy from interrupted sleep. He started to close his eyes, to go back to sleep. But the second he did, he felt it again: a tiny pressure on his shoulder. He opened his eyes and kept them open this time, picking his head up a little off his pillow. He narrowed his eyes against the dark, glancing at first to the clock on his bedside table, realizing it was just past midnight. He looked up towards the poke, rubbing his eyes. And saw Cameron.

"Cam…?" His voice was thick with sleep, but he was quickly waking up. "Cam?" His little brother was standing at his bedside, with his blanket wrapped tight around him. At Jonathan's voice, he sniffed again, wiping his eyes. Beside him, Daisy was sitting neatly. Her tail was wagging as she looked eagerly between the two of them like she was waiting for someone to start playing with her at this ungodly hour. He'd left her in Cameron's room, so he wouldn't feel lonely. But all of a sudden, here he was. "What's wrong…?"

Cameron sniffled again and whimpered a little under his breath. "I can't sleep…" Jonathan shifted up more to sit. Cameron wilted like he was worried he was angry with him. "I'm…I'm sorry, I…" His lips started shaking more, and he ducked his head when he started to cry harder. He was stuttering over himself, trying to explain. But nothing could ever really get out fully. "I…can I…?"

It could never come out in full, but that was okay. He didn't need to explain. He never needed to explain, with him. Jonathan softened and scooted so he was against the wall. Cameron peeked up out of his blanket and practically deflated with relief. Jonathan pulled his covers back and the instant he did, Cameron rushed to lay down beside him. Jonathan grabbed the covers and tucked him in, moving so that Cameron's blanket could be spread over the top, once he was. The instant he laid down again, Cameron was wrapping his arms around his brother's middle. He pulled close and ducked his head against his shoulder.

Jonathan melted and cradled him against his chest. He hugged him with one arm and started to pull through his hair with the other. Cameron sniffed, and mumbled against his shirt: "I missed you…"

"I know," he murmured. "I missed you, too."

Cameron hesitated. Before: "I'm sorry…" he hugged him tighter. "I'm so sorry, Johnny…"

Jonathan was quiet for a second, too. Before he just repeated himself. "I know. I'm sorry too." Cameron rested against him more and let out a shaking sigh. He hoped that meant he was relaxing. He hoped his brother felt the same happiness he was feeling now…it had been so long since they had even been together, let alone in the same room. For the longest time, Jonathan had difficulty falling asleep in the first place because all he could think about was the fact that he was alone. Now he was finally here, and he felt like a hole in his chest had been patched up. He felt like he was complete again.

There was a tiny bark; just as Jonathan was stiffening with the realization of what was going to happen, Daisy jumped up onto the bed, landing directly in between the two twins. Cameron yelped in surprise, but as Daisy crammed herself in the tiny space that she'd forced into the middle, Jonathan saw he was smiling. The dog huffed and finally settled down to plop into a place she deemed comfortable enough. Cameron slung an arm around her back and snuggled up to her. Jonathan did the same, his arm barely brushing against his brother's. "You can finally say you have a dog…" he offered after a moment's silence.

He was relieved beyond words when Cameron replied, and his voice was just a little bit lighter. Not a whole lot, but just enough. "Yeah," he murmured, the tone of voice he used making Jonathan's chest grow warm with happiness and affection. "Yeah…I guess I can…"

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

The backyard was huge. Or maybe it wasn't…they'd never really had their own backyard before. Not one like this, anyway. There was a garden in the far right corner that Emma loved to take care of. Flowers on one side, vegetables, and fruits on the other. There was a patio that had chairs and a grill and a fireplace, where people might sit if there was company. Not that they'd ever had company over before in their lives, either. But one of the bigger highlights was the huge tree in the other corner of the yard, and the swing that was hanging from one of its bigger branches.

It was just a simple rope swing. It wasn't much, and before now Jonathan hadn't even really felt any interest in checking it out. But  _now_ he did. They'd been out for ages, taking turns pushing each other. Other kids might have gotten bored after the first hour, but not them. Even besides the fact they'd been separated for so long, they couldn't possibly get bored of this. They'd  _never_ played outside together, before. Twelve years, and not once had they been allowed to play together in the open. To laugh and yell as loud as they wanted at the same time and not worry about anyone hearing them or seeing them.

They only had the swing, outside, for right now. But that was more than enough for them.

Jonathan was pushing Cameron, trying to beat the current record on how high he could get him. He was winning, so far, of course. He was trying not to draw too much attention to it, though. Just like he wasn't trying to draw attention to the fact that he was mainly the one doing all the pushing, now. After how long they'd been out, Cameron was getting tired. He was a lot better than the way he used to be, but he still wasn't as strong as Jonathan in terms of stamina. Jonathan could see it in the stooped way he had been standing, and the way he'd been breathing shakier the longer he'd had to push him.

They'd probably have to go in, soon. But for now, Jonathan was willing to stay here and push. Every push that sent Cameron higher had his brother laughing and giggling. It was the most he'd heard him laugh at one time in years. He'd stand here and push until his arms gave out. Cameron was almost high enough to reach one of the lower-hanging branches. Jonathan had dared him a while ago to try and touch it, but he was clinging too hard to the rope to and he wasn't about to let go. That was alright, though; as long as he was having fun, Jonathan didn't mind rushing in and out of his path to push.

The workout was worth it.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

"Do you have any threes?"

"Go fish."

"I can't hold any more cards, I  _literally_  have the entire deck in my hand," Jonathan complained. Cameron stifled a snicker. At the sound, Jonathan cracked a grin. "I didn't even think it was even possible to end up with this many cards. I think you're lying to me and I don't appreciate it." He laughed again, as he watched Jonathan draw another one. It was getting to the point that they were practically all falling.

"Do you have any fours?" Cameron just countered.

He shot him a look. "I have one of every card, of  _course_ I have a four." He handed it over to Cameron, who was looking very smug. He snatched it away with a dramatic ' _Thank_ you' and Jonathan rolled his eyes. "This game is awful," he announced.

"Well, then you'll be happy to know you don't have to keep playing it," Cameron chirped, putting down his last match and running out of cards. "'Cause I just won." Jonathan groaned, dropping everything and slouching. Cameron giggled, which made it harder for Jonathan to pretend to be mad. "You're really bad at every card game we've tried to play." They'd tried Old Maid and Crazy Eights and about three others. Jonathan had lost every single one. He'd come close with Crazy Eights, but Cameron had won it at the tail end. "I'm starting to think you're doing bad on purpose to make me feel better about myself."

" _Please,"_ he scoffed. "You're the  _last_ person that needs their ego inflated." Cameron kept the smile as he started to gather the cards again. Jonathan softened. "How about we play something I know you'll be bad at? Like Scrabble. You can't spell  _anything_ — I'd be surprised if you could even spell  _Scrabble."_ Cameron giggled again. Jonathan couldn't hide his beam. He'd missed playing with him. He'd missed teasing him, and getting teased back. He'd missed being normal. He was positive Cameron did too. "Or how about—"

The door opened and Jonathan perked, looking over. He smiled when Oliver walked in and hung up his coat. He was home from work— Jonathan had lost track of time. Cameron didn't follow his lead; he stared down at the floor, instead, suddenly focused on shuffling. Oliver grinned, heading over to them. Cameron's forehead started to crease, the closer he got. "Hey! Looks like you guys dug out the cards. I was wondering how long it would take." Jonathan smiled. Cameron didn't. "What're you guys playing?" Emma heard her husband come in. She'd come out of the kitchen and was leaning against the entryway of the living room, watching him go to the kids with a soft expression.

"We  _were_ playing Go Fish," Jonathan hummed. "We've played a million games, but we've discovered I'm horrible at every single one. So we were thinking of something else."

"Aw, no!" Oliver sat down. Cameron's eyes flickered over to him briefly, before he looked back down. Oliver noticed, and paused. Before his expression softened and he leaned over to try and catch his eyes again. He was unsuccessful, but he tried. "Hey…do you guys know how to play poker?" Jonathan shook his head, and Oliver cracked more of a smile when he looked at him. He shook his head, and Oliver's eyes lit up. He settled down more, crossing his legs and clapping his hands together. "Do you want to learn?" Jonathan's smile grew.  _"Everyone_ should know how to play poker, it's a basic life skill." He began to turn to Cameron. "Here— give me the deck and I can—"

" _No."_  Cameron's voice was oddly flat and choked. Jonathan's smile disappeared as he looked at Cameron, and his stomach clenched. His brother was gripping the deck hard, pressing the cards against his chest. Oliver froze mid-reach, his eyes widening when he registered how pale he had gotten. He looked distressed and scared. He looked the way he did that always got everyone immediately scrambling to wonder what they had done or said wrong. Oliver's hand was still out; Cameron jerked so his back was more towards him. "No, we're  _not_ playing that," he snapped. The sudden acidity on his tongue was scathing.

Oliver withdrew, looking baffled but remorseful. "Oh, we…well, we don't have to," he reassured. "If you don't want to, it's perfectly fi—"

"What's wrong?" Jonathan demanded. "It's just a card game, Cam, he wants to—"

"It's  _not_ just a card game!" Cameron's eyes were welling up.

Jonathan's face started to fall. He scooted a little closer; the instant he did, Cameron was reaching over and tugging on his arm to get him even more so. "Cam, what are you talking about? Of  _course,_  it's—"

"He just wants us to take our clothes off!" he hissed, and even though he tried to whisper it, everyone heard it. The same kind of shock slapped itself onto Jonathan and Oliver's face, the second they did. Emma jerked up to straighten, her eyes flying wide as her arms dropped to her sides. Awful silence filled the room. Cameron's eyes, filled with tears, flickered fast to Oliver, before he looked back at Jonathan, digging his fingers even more into his skin and tugging him, harder this time. He looked nervous and sick. "I wanna leave…" he whimpered, almost too quiet to hear, this time. "I don't want to be out here anymore."

Jonathan was still struggling to get his words back. "Cameron…no, that's not…"

The tears were starting to track down his face, now. " _Every_ time, I've had to—"

"Cameron— no, Cam." Cameron cringed when Oliver used his nickname. "That's not— not  _that…_ poker, Cameron, no. You…you  _can_ play it…that way, but— of course, I would  _never_ …" He trailed off, realizing he was just making him more upset. Cameron's lips and shoulders were shaking as he clung to Jonathan in silence. The quiet was just making everything worse. Oliver swallowed hard, disappointment in himself like a thousand-pound weight on his chest. He looked at Emma, but she was just as saddened. She was staring at Cameron with deep sorrow. Jonathan was, too. All three of them were.

The silence was horrible. Cameron closed his eyes, beginning to burn with embarrassment. "I'm…s—…" He cut off with a sniff, ducking his head and just starting to cry. Every few seconds he would whimper or sob. He shook his head before he leaned over so his forehead could duck into Jonathan's shoulder.

He hesitated before he hugged him. "Don't be, Cam," he murmured. "You're just confused…" That made him cry harder. He grimaced and rubbed his back. Oliver looked away. His own eyes were getting misty, with all of his regret over the stumble. Cameron was already so scared of him. He was digging his hole deeper. "You wanna go to your room?" Jonathan murmured eventually. Cameron didn't answer. "I'll go with you." This got him nodding fast. Jonathan glanced at Oliver, then at Emma, all three of them having the same identical look of sorrow. Before he moved to stand up with his brother and leave.

They went to his room and he shut the door while Cameron rushed to the bed. He all but slammed his back against the wall. He drew his legs up to his chest and raked his fingers through his hair, holding his head in his hands and starting to cry harder. There was frustration now, along with his distress. Jonathan weakened but sat down by him. He didn't reach out to hold him yet. He just let him cry for a couple of minutes, feeling empty. Before he whispered: "He didn't mean it that way, Cam…"

"I know," Cameron sobbed. Fear was still hiding in his voice. "I…just…" His voice began to crumble, the more he forced himself to speak. "I just  _hate_  this!" he cried. So sad and so panicked that Jonathan had to look away. "I hate being here, I  _hate_  being with them! I don't know them! They're not familiar, this house isn't ours, and— and it feels like it always did whenever I had to stay somewhere else! Except now it feels like that  _all the time!"_ he sobbed. "And I know it's— …but I can't sleep at night because I'm just waiting for one of them to come into my room and— …and they're always trying to get me to talk or look at them and I don't want to, and they call me Cam even though they don't know me,  _just_ like the other adults!"

"You…" Jonathan could barely speak. "You just have to get to  _know_  them…Cam…you have to—"

"I'm  _scared!"_  Cameron sobbed. It shut him up immediately. "I'm scared  _all the time!_ I'm scared even when you're here with me, and when you're not it's even worse, and I know I'm pathetic and stupid and annoying," Jonathan was objecting, but Cameron was rushing on and he was talking so fast that he didn't hear, "but I can't stop it! I just don't want to be here! I want to be at  _home!_  I want to be back in New York! I want to sleep in my own bed, with you just across the room! I want all of it back!"

"We don't have a home in New York anymore, Cam," Jonathan pressed. He started crying even harder.  _"This_ is the only place we have a home, right now. With two people that care about us. That feed us and want to play with us and want to tuck us in at night. That want to take us sledding, next time it snows. That offer to make us cake even when it's not our birthday." Cameron didn't pick his head up. "Cameron." He didn't want to say it. But he had to. "This is the  _best_  place for us. It's not  _anything_  like Sebastian said it would be. It's  _nice_. You just…you aren't giving them a  _chance_ , Cameron."

He sniffled and sobbed. He was hiding his face in his hands. "It's hard…" he cried.

Jonathan barely got out his next question. "Why can't you give them the same amount of chances you gave to Sebastian?" Cameron flinched. Jonathan felt horrible, but he wasn't about to stop, now that he had finally asked it. "Why can't you give them the same chances you gave him? The chances you  _kept_ giving him, even when he made you do all of that in the first place? When he made you miss Christmas…and Easter and Thanksgiving and New Years? When he hit me, and wouldn't let me eat? When he kept giving you drugs? When he threatened you when you didn't want to do something? Cameron… _how_ can you miss  _him…_ and be so  _scared_ of Emma and Oliver? When they've done  _nothing_ but try?"

His sobbing stayed harsh. At first, Jonathan was sure he was going to ignore him. Until he sobbed out a thick: "I don't know!" He wilted. "I don't know, I don't know!" he cried, muffled into his knees. "I don't know what's wrong with me! It feels wrong, it feels like I'm broken! I feel  _broken!"_  he confessed. Jonathan's eyes widened. The way the words hurt him, Cameron might as well have stabbed him straight through the heart. "I feel broken and I don't know what to do! I'm  _broken!"_  he wailed.

Jonathan forced himself to move. He wrapped him up in a hug, pulling him into his side. He reached up and ran a hand along the side of his face. "You're not broken, Cam…" he soothed. "You're not broken…"

"What's  _wrong_ with me!?" he kept crying, just as hard. Jonathan cringed. "What's wrong with me why I can't I be the way I was!? Why can't I feel right!? About  _anything!?_ "

Jonathan just kept rocking him a little. Kept running his hand down his cheek over and over.

He didn't reply.

He didn't have an answer.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

They were making a cake. Jonathan could count the number of cakes they'd had in their lives on just one hand. They'd only ever had cake for their birthday, and that was if they were lucky. Four…maybe five times in total. And that was being generous. Most of the time, they were promised one  _next_  year. Cameron had missed their last two birthdays entirely. Jonathan had been completely alone. Cakes were rare. And even when they got to have them, it was always sullied by the fact that they  _were_ so few and far between. It was just a reminder of the things they were always missing.

Cakes were for birthdays. If  _even._

But not anymore. Add it to the list, of things that were different, here. Tonight wasn't special. It was just another Wednesday. But they were making a cake…just to  _make_ cake. Jonathan didn't even know that was a  _thing_. That you could just get a cake whenever you wanted, or make one whenever you wanted, without reason. But Emma had gotten out the mix and now they were putting all the ingredients together. Jonathan was grinning from ear-to-ear. Cameron was like his shadow, lingering silently at his side. Emma had been beaming ever since they'd both agreed to help. "Do you want to crack the eggs?" she asked them, shifting the carton over to them.

Jonathan smiled more, plucking one out. He looked at Cameron and nudged him with his elbow. Cameron just shook his head. He tried not to wilt too much when he looked back at the bowl. He just forced the smile back on. "I've never cracked an egg before," he murmured, but there was nothing but excitement in his voice with the announcement.

"That's alright!" she chirped. "You've got this!"

He stifled a laugh. He moved it a little awkwardly in his hands before he tapped it against the rim. Cameron was watching anxiously as the middle started to split. Jonathan's eyes narrowed with thought as he wormed it open more and broke it apart. He beamed when he pulled it off without a hitch. "I did it!" Cameron smiled a little, at how overjoyed he was. He was practically radiating happiness, at the simple feat.

Emma's smile went soft. "You did!" she affirmed, proud. "Good job!" She looked at Cameron, and her expression became gentler. "We need one more egg…do you wanna try it, Cameron?" His smile was disappearing, the second she was looking at him. He shook his head. "You sure? You don't wanna just try it?" He was silent and troubled. He hadn't said much of anything all night. She'd felt bad…but she had agreed quietly with Oliver when he had murmured to her after dinner that maybe he should just go to the bedroom for the rest of the night…on the hope it would help Cameron feel safer. It had helped a little. He'd at least agreed to  _be here_  while they made the cake. But she could see all the discomfort returning, now.

"It's fun, Cam!" Jonathan encouraged. He handed him an egg. Reluctantly, he took it. "C'mon! Just do what I did!" He wilted, looking very unsure. But after a couple of seconds of looking between his brother, and the bowl, Cameron took in a deeper breath and shifted closer. Emma bit down on her smile as best she could, but it was impossible to ignore how happy she was just to see him start to try. He barely tapped the egg on the edge of the bowl. "You gotta tap it harder than that, Cameron." Cameron grimaced. Jonathan just smiled. "It's okay! You're doing good; just a  _little_  harder. You gotta see it start to break."

The discomfort was growing on his face, but Cameron complied. He risked hitting it a little more. He froze when he heard the crack, his eyes rounding out. Jonathan just clapped. "Yeah! Yeah, that's it!" His voice was overly peppy like he was talking to a little kid. But if Cameron hated it, he didn't show any sign. He was just staring nervously. "Now just break it apart. You've got it!" Cameron's hands were shaking a little, but he narrowed his eyes, trying to focus. He dared to put more pressure on the shell and tug.

But he put  _too_ much pressure, on accident. The shell broke in his hands and he jerked with a high-pitched yelp. Bits and fragments of shells broke into the bowl. His eyes went wide, as he snatched his arms up against his chest. He stumbled backward, panicked. "I'm— I'm sorry!" he gasped. Jonathan rushed after him, grabbing gently to his arms and trying to get him to look at him. But he was stuck staring at the bowl in horror. "I didn't— I messed up, I—!"

"Cameron— it's just an egg," Jonathan tried to interrupt. "Cam— look at me, it's just—"

He was tearing up, breathing faster. "I did it wrong, I— I'm sorry, I—"

"It doesn't  _matter_  Cam,  _listen—_ snap out of it, you—"

Cameron was stuttering out objections, and Jonathan was struggling to calm him. When all of a sudden, they were both cut off by a sudden crack. Both whirled around, confused. Emma's fist was clenched tight; when they turned, she opened it and let the crumbled-up egg fall into the mix. Broken shell pieces and all. Bemusement came over both their faces. She made a face when she looked at the mess that was all over her hand. But when she looked back, she regained her smile.  _"There,"_  she said, simply. Cameron wilted, still confused. Jonathan was still holding onto his arms. "Now we can just take them all out."

Cameron still looked perplexed, but Jonathan started to smile gratefully. He looked back at his brother and pulled a little on his arms, to get him moving. He brought them both back to the bowl. Cameron glanced at Emma, who was purposefully focusing only on starting to pick out the eggshell pieces. His hands fidgeted together briefly. Before, sobering, he started to clean it out, too. They worked in silence until every little bit was picked out. Emma made sure there was nothing remaining— she spent about five minutes stirring it apart to ensure it was nothing but batter. Then she left to try and find a pan that would best fit it.

Jonathan flashed Cameron a smile.  _"See?"_  he whispered. "She's  _awesome_ , Cameron."

Cameron's expression was heavy. Jonathan was practically begging him silently to see what he meant. For a second, he felt so much hope that he finally  _would_ begin to warm up to her, that it felt like his chest was practically tearing in half. But that hope died when Cameron just looked back down at the batter, his expression crowding with anxiety and sorrow when he just grabbed the spoon and started to stir. Pointlessly, because it was already stirred completely. Jonathan's shoulders drooped. "…Cam," he pressed. Cameron just turned a little bit away from him. He took a step closer. "Cam… _come on, Cam…"_

He said nothing. Jonathan realized his eyes were starting to tear up.

He drew back, sighing under his breath. He took a deep breath and bit down on all his frustration. He turned to look at Emma and realized she wasn't looking for a pan anymore. She was standing at the pantry but looking at Cameron. Jonathan's chest tore again when he realized she looked sad enough to start crying, too. He tried to catch her eye. To give her about his  _millionth_  apologetic smile. But she didn't look at him. She was just staring mournfully at Cameron, as he kept messing with the cake batter.

He figured it wasn't such a big loss. It wouldn't do any good, anyway.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

They'd had another movie night. They had let Cameron pick the movie, and Jonathan had been over the moon when he'd  _actually_  shown a little excitement at the prospect. He'd picked a Disney movie they'd never seen before. They'd all settled in, and he had shared a blanket with Jonathan. Emma had sat on his other side, and Oliver had sat next to Jonathan. Cameron hadn't even seemed like Emma sitting by him really bothered him…and when Oliver made popcorn and offered him some, Jonathan was washed with relief when Cameron hadn't even been skittish. He'd been watching the movie and had just reached over to get some. So not only was he eating, but he wasn't shying away from Oliver for once. It wasn't much. But Jonathan saw the huge smile that had come over the man's face when Cameron didn't react badly.

It wasn't much, but they would take it. They would all take it.

Cameron still wasn't sleeping all that well at night…so about halfway into the movie, he was dozing off with his head on Jonathan's shoulder. Once Jonathan realized he was sleeping, he froze, trying not to move at all so he wouldn't wake him up. In doing so, he started to nod off, too. By the end of the movie, they were both sound asleep, slouched against each other. Cameron's head was on Jonathan's shoulder, and Jonathan's head was resting on top of his. The only sound they made were light snores. Once the credits rolled and Oliver and Emma realized, both their expression went soft at the same time. The sight of the twins peaceful and together got both of their chests to hurt with relief and affection.

They shut the TV off and Oliver went to put the popcorn bowl in the sink. Emma followed him in with their empty glasses. From there, they just stood in the mouth of the kitchen, watching the two sleep, for a few moments. Emma was the first to break the silence. "They're so cute…" Her voice was barely audible. He looked at her, and he was swamped with a sudden rush of love when he saw the love that was on  _her_ face when she looked at them. "For months, Jonathan has been so on-edge…and lonely…he's so much happier now that Cameron is here…"

"Yeah…" he whispered. Regret flickered over his face, a little bit. "I wish…it was easier, for Cameron…" Her face fell when her eyes went to the younger of the two. It was so easy to tell them apart. When they were awake, it was by demeanor alone. But even when they were asleep…Cameron was still skinnier than Jonathan was. And there was something about his hair that told her it was him, too. She couldn't quite put her finger on what it was. It was probably because Jonathan was always messing with it, she'd noticed. Constantly, he was reaching over and fussing with the way his bangs were hanging or messing with the part. "I wish it wasn't so hard for him…" Oliver continued.

Sorrow clawed at her heart. She thought of how he'd looked and acted in the hospital, and the way he still acted, now. She pictured the bags he still had under his eyes— the exhausted dullness that seemed to follow him everywhere. "He's been through so much…" Her voice was a little thicker. She started to feel sick to her stomach like she always did when she stopped long enough to dwell on the actual facts of what had brought them here. The silence was earsplitting, and she didn't want to bring it up. But it was inevitable.  _"How_ could  _anyone_ subject a child to that?" she asked, not for the first time. Oliver closed his eyes and shook his head slowly. "Much less your  _own_ child?" Her eyes were beginning to sting.

"He's a  _monster."_  Unlike Emma, when  _Oliver_ thought of the details, all he felt was blinding rage. He knew without a doubt that should he  _ever_  in his entire  _life,_ meet Sebastian Black, he would be filled with so much fury and disgust that he could kill him with his bare hands and feel absolutely nothing but satisfaction. Thinking of how small and fragile Cameron was…at how sweet he sounded in all of Jonathan's stories and how meek he was now…Oliver wanted nothing more than to meet Sebastian just so he could punch the lights out of him. Though he knew if he had the chance, he'd likely not be able to stop.

The two stayed where they were, still watching them. The sadness built on Emma's face…the anger built on Oliver's. He hissed the number, and she cringed away from it. "Five hundred and seventy-two," he spat. She gave a hasty 'shhh!' He wasn't sure if that was because he was being too loud, or if she just didn't want to face the number again. He lowered his voice but it in no way lightened.  _"Five hundred and seventy-two,_ that  _fucker_  forced him to  _sleep_ with adults _five hundred and seventy-two_ times.  _That's just the ones that they know about._ He made more than  _three million dollars,_ how  _fucked up_ do you have to be to do that? And how did he never get  _caught?"_

Emma didn't answer, staring at Cameron with that same mournful gaze. All she murmured was a choked: "Poor thing…you can tell he's just such a  _sweetheart…"_ In his sleep, Cameron shifted, to be more against Jonathan. His head ended up tucking more into his shoulder, so his forehead was against his neck. He twitched, ending up holding to his brother's arm a little. Jonathan mumbled and shifted, but he didn't wake up. She wilted. "Do you…do you think he'll actually…like us? Some day? Or…do you think we made a mistake?" Her voice was getting smaller. "Do you think…we're not cut out for this?"

"We're cut out for it," Oliver reassured. She looked at him doubtfully. He reached over to put his hands on her shoulders. "Listen…we're doing a good thing. Good for us,  _and_ them. It's hard…but eventually, it'll change. It has to; I know it will. He just needs time. We knew it wouldn't be easy…right?"

"He wants to go home…he doesn't like us, he doesn't like it here, he wants to leave…"

"For now," Oliver added. She just stared at him heavily. "Give him time."

"I just…" She closed her eyes briefly before she took in a deep breath and blurted it out. "I don't want them to leave. I don't want either of them to leave." She looked at her husband like she was afraid of seeing his reaction. There wasn't much of one to see; he was just staring at her. She winced a little but elaborated. "It took him a while…but look how far Jonathan's come— I think he  _likes_  us…he's so much  _happier_ , and he's just such a good kid. The other day he gave me a hug without me asking for it or without me hugging him first, and— that's not a big thing usually, but it is for  _him._ And I've…gotten used to having him here, and cooking for him and he's already learning our language— I think he wants to stay, too…

"But I just know—" She grimaced, before looking back at the boys. "I know it's selfish, and I should want whatever makes him happy, but…if Cameron wants to leave, it doesn't matter what Jonathan wants, he'll go with him. And I don't want them to." She blinked, and a tear fell down her cheek. Oliver followed her gaze, his expression as heavy as his heart. "I don't want either of them to leave. I want to….I want to keep them," she croaked. "Already. Already, I want to keep them. I've seen them both at their worsts, and the  _only_  thing I want is to see them at their bests. And  _keep_ seeing them at their bests. I wanna see them happy, I wanna give them the childhood they should have had from the very beginning,  _even if_  I have to cram it all into the next couple of years."

Oliver just looked at her with an endearing smile.

She sniffed, feeling embarrassed as she wiped her eyes. "I'm being ridiculous."

"No…" He shook his head, that smile growing. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to him, to give her a kiss. It was just a tiny one, but when he pulled away his expression was even softer. "I wanna keep them too." Her face broke out into a smile, and he kissed her again, just as tenderly. "That's why we just need to give them time. They'll come around. And when they do, we'll be waiting." He tucked her hair behind her ear. "But let's just take it one day at a time." She nodded, still lit up. "I'm gonna take them to bed…" Cameron had been here for just a little over a week, but they both knew the routine the twins had. Sometimes they started out in their own rooms. But by the morning one of them always snuck out to be with the other. He'd just take them both back to Jonathan's room.

She softened and nodded again. He let go of her and walked back to the couch. He considered waking them up…but when he saw how peaceful they looked, he didn't have the heart to. Instead, he moved very carefully, handling them like glass in the effort not to disturb them. He would try and carry them. He got Jonathan first. He slid an arm under his legs and behind his back, and he lifted him with ease. Cameron slouched more into the couch when his brother was moved; he sighed a little, but he didn't wake up.

Neither did Jonathan. Oliver cradled him in his arms snugly. The boy's head drooped, resting against his chest. His breathing stayed deep and even. He was overwhelmed with a tug of affection and happiness when he started for his room. He was overjoyed at the simple task…just because he knew it was such an everyday thing that happened. That it was something simple: fathers taking their kids to bed after they'd fallen asleep away from their room. They were almost too big for it. But he and Cameron were on the lighter side as it was, thanks to how little they'd had to eat in general when they were with Sebastian. Oliver managed, and he got him the entire way there without him stirring.

He laid him carefully on the farther side of the bed. Jonathan's head fell a little to the side against the pillow. Oliver melted. He turned and went back into the living room. He was just as cautious when he picked Cameron up. But with the way he was sleeping, it was easier for Oliver to lean down and pick him up normally. He straightened, holding him securely to make sure he wasn't going to drop. He held him on his hip. Cameron's head ended up nestled on his shoulder, turned into his neck just like he had been with Jonathan. His arms hung limply over his shoulders.

Emma smiled. As he walked past her, she got on her toes to kiss his cheek. She followed him into Jonathan's room and lingered in the doorway, watching him set Cameron down beside his brother. He started covering them with all the blankets, tucking them in and making sure they were comfortable and warm. He tucked the blankets under their chins and was just about to pull away. But he stopped short, his eyes catching on Jonathan. The boy's bangs were hanging down into his eyes. He smiled a little when he reached out and brushed them aside. He let his hand linger on the boy's temple for a couple of moments.

Before he heard the tiniest gasp. He turned, stiffening when he realized Cameron was staring up at him. The boy's eyes were huge and bright with panicked fear. He was looking fast, from him to Jonathan, still asleep. Oliver's face fell. The little boy's breathing was already terrified tiny little gasps. He was trembling. He was punched in the gut when he realized how it must look to him, just waking up. He was cursing himself mentally for not thinking about that— he had to always be thinking, that was what Maria had warned them. Here would be  _another_ time he upset him just because he was being thoughtless. No wonder Cameron was still so scared of him; he was constantly messing up like this!

"It's okay— hey, it's okay…" he tried to calm.

"What are you doing?" Cameron's voice was just a whimper. Tears were beading at his eyes.

"Nothing…we're just tucking you in." Cameron looked confused, now, along with his fright. His eyes flickered to the side, to see Emma had walked up to stand beside her husband.

He started at the both of them blankly. "…What?" he whispered eventually.

"You and Jonathan fell asleep on the couch. We just moved you here…we didn't want to wake you."

"But…" His voice was just a weak croak. It looked like he was trying to grab Jonathan's hand. Oliver frowned. And his frown only got deeper when he whimpered, "What…what happens now?"

At first, they were confused. But the realization came over them at the same time, and when it did, they both weakened. Oliver ducked his head, feeling that anger again but wanting to hide it from Cameron. Emma took it upon herself to reply. "Nothing, sweetheart," she murmured. Cameron was still blinking fast, and breathing even faster. His forehead creased as he looked at his brother, then back at them. Emma gave him a tender smile. He still seemed lost, at the simple act of affection without anything expected in return. "We're just gonna make sure you're okay before you go to bed."

His bemusement stayed. He didn't say anything else.

Oliver looked back up and he smiled when Emma murmured a soft: "Goodnight, Cameron."

He just looked fast between the two of them. He was tugging the blankets up more, so it covered his mouth. They tried not to look too disappointed. They just turned together and headed out of the room. Their smiles dropped once they turned their backs to him. They went out into the hall, and Emma twisted the doorknob, trying to close it so it wouldn't make a click. But the moment she began to bring the door shut, she froze when she heard Cameron whisper, "…Goodnight…"

Her eyes went wide when she looked back at him. But he was already twisting towards Jonathan and snuggling into him. She looked at Oliver to see her own shocked happiness on his face. She closed the door and rushed for him— they grabbed one another's arms and grinned wide; Emma jumping up and down. Oliver looked like he was trying not to laugh at her, but she could see he was just as ecstatic.

It was such a simple thing— just a tiny return of what they'd said.

But it was so much more than that.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Oliver waited in the car like he always did. He checked the clock; any minute now, Cameron would get back. It was how the routine always went. Early in the morning, he would take Cameron and they would drive in stony silence, Cameron either always looking at his lap or out the window. He took him back to Maria. The first couple of times he had walked in with him but that always made Cameron even more on-edge, so he'd started just staying in the car. Cameron would slip out, just as wordlessly, practically running into the rehabilitation center. He would be gone for an hour and a half, to two. Sometimes Oliver went out and ran errands while he was waiting, but most of the time he just sat and waited.

He was passing the time trying to count how many other cars were in the lot, but he kept losing count. He was just beginning to kick himself for forgetting his book at home when movement at the front of the building startled him. He glanced at the clock and realized it was just about that time. Sure enough, it was Cameron, heading for the car. He was bundled up and hugging his coat to himself. It wasn't that cold, today. But Cameron was still very  _not_ acclimated to the weather. He was rushing to get inside, and Oliver was already turning the heat up, for him.

He opened the door for him, too, and Cameron glanced at him before he sat down. His eyes went down to his lap at once, as he shut the door. He said nothing; his mouth was pressed into a thin line. Oliver hesitated before he asked: "Maria didn't want to talk to me?" A majority of the time, she came out with Cameron, and while he shut himself up in the car, they spoke outside. She checked in on how he was doing, whether or not there were any concerns, if something had gone wrong Cameron had not mentioned. But Cameron shook his head, once, very fast.

Oliver nodded and took in a deep breath. "Alright, then." He made sure his voice was bright. "Let's head on home, I suppose." Cameron said nothing; Oliver wasn't expecting him to. "Emma needs me to stop at the store, she forgot to get something to make dinner with, is that okay?" All he got was another tiny nod. He tried not to be disappointed with it. At least he was  _reacting._  "Maybe you can get something while we're there," he offered. "And you can pick out something for Jonathan, too. I bet he'd like that."

Cameron hesitated. But gave a slower nod.

He tried one last time. "How was your session? Was it good? Helpful?"

Cameron grew uncomfortable. He looked out the window, not saying anything.

Oliver surveyed him for a second more, before he looked back front, settling himself in for another silent drive. For a few minutes, there was nothing at all. But he stiffened when Cameron suddenly murmured: "Thanks." Oliver looked at him, and the confusion must have been too obvious on his face. Cameron's eyes flickered to him. This time he didn't look away at once. He actually held his gaze for a couple of seconds. "For driving me," he mumbled, and Oliver was certain this was the most words he'd ever spoken to him at one time. "You do it a lot, and…you never complain. So thanks."

He beamed. "Of course, Cameron," he replied. "It's no trouble at all."

The boy just nodded again. Short, and fast, before he turned away again.

But this time, Oliver didn't find nearly as much disappointment in it.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

The doorbell rang. Jonathan practically sprinted to get it. When he opened the door he flung it open wide, grinning from ear to ear when he saw the smile that was waiting for him on the doorstep. "That was fast!" he cheered, and Cornelius laughed a little. Her blue eyes were bright when she walked inside. He grabbed her hand and pulled, his own eyes bright with anticipation as well as a bit of nervousness. "C'mon, he's waiting. He's going to be  _really_  happy to meet you!" He started to head down the hall, when suddenly he stopped, frowning. She kept walking at first, but he held her back. She was puzzled when she turned around. He took in a slow breath, suddenly thoughtful.

"Um…you have to…" He took in a slow breath. "You gotta be careful. And you have to…know some stuff before you meet him." She tilted her head to the side. "You can't… _talk_ really loud, or yell— it makes him uncomfortable. A-And you can't run at him or surprise him. And you can't hug him, either. If he hugs you, it's okay, but…but you can't just hug him out of the blue. And don't ask him any questions about anything. That makes him upset. And don't stare at him. But…but don't… _not_ stare at him." She frowned. "I mean, don't…make a point to not look at him. You just…have to be really careful. With him. Please."

She looked a little startled, at the overflow of information, all unloaded in a rush. But she shook her head, regaining her smile. "Okay. I'll be really careful," she pledged, sounding like she meant it a hundred percent. Jonathan started to relax, with just a little bit of respite. "I promise."

He smiled. He nodded and hesitated one last time before he started down the hall again. They reached his room in a matter of seconds, and Jonathan was grinning wide again when he saw Cameron look up. He was sitting on the bed, where he'd left him. Daisy was laying with her head in his lap, her tail wagging with happy contentment. Her head popped up along with Cameron's at their arrival. Like always, she started barking when she saw the newcomer. She raced down and hopped on her hindlegs, trying to practically tackle her. Cornelius had been here before, but certainly not recently. Not that it mattered, though. Daisy would be happy to see you again even if you just stepped outside for thirty minutes.

Cornelius giggled, taking a minute to pet her so she would stop barking as much. Then she looked up and grinned at his brother, who still hadn't moved. "Hi!" His hands were wringing a little. He didn't say anything. "I'm Cornelius…it's so good to finally meet you!" He smiled. He scooted off the bed and stood up. She started towards him and Jonathan stiffened a little. But she reached out and offered her hand towards him, and he relaxed. Cameron hesitated for a split second before he reached out and took it. They did a small shake. "I've heard a lot about you, Cameron," she grinned, once they let go.

He glanced at Jonathan, who tried to keep his smile. He looked back at her and offered a quiet, very sarcastic: "Must have been a ton of good things, then." There was a heaviness in his expression. A distinct sadness he was trying to cover up, but not really accomplishing.

But Cornelius only giggled. "Of course!" she gushed. "You're  _all_  good things!"

Jonathan softened. With gratitude and affection alike.

Cameron's smile grew more genuine. For a few seconds, there was just silence. All three kids staring awkwardly, not at all sure what to say. Before, a little surprisingly, Cameron sucked in a deep breath and started nervously: "So…Jonathan told me you like magic…"

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

She sat back and admired the new flowers she'd put in beside the roses. Her jeans and gloves were covered in dirt, and there was some streaked on her face. But the work was worth it; the flowers she added help tie the garden together. Now all that was left was checking how the other half was doing. She stood up, brushing her hands together to get off some of the mess. She began to pick her way over, when she stopped, something catching in the peripheral of her vision. She looked back and realized Cameron was standing a few yards away. He was hugging himself. He looked nervous.

She softened. "Hey, Cam…something wrong?"

"Um…no…I…" She waited patiently. He took in a deep breath. But he was still mumbling when he spoke. "Jonathan is…reading, I didn't…wanna bother him— but I don't…wanna bother you, either, but um…" She shook her head, to show it wasn't a bother at all. But he was more so studying the ground at this point; she wasn't sure he saw. He was hugging himself even tighter. His distress was building. "I was just…trying to…" She frowned. He curled even closer to himself. "I'm…really hungry…I…" His voice was getting so small it was mostly a squeak. Her face was falling. "I just…wanted…to ask…" He trailed off, looking overwhelmed.

She checked her watch and realized it was almost noon. "Oh!" Cameron tensed at the small cry. "I didn't realize it was getting so late, honey!" The term of endearment had his eyes flashing. "I can go in and get lunch together. We can have whatever you like." She found that letting him choose what to eat – when he actually complied to pick – led him to eat a little more at a time. He didn't have much dinner and he said he hadn't wanted breakfast this morning, so it would only be natural he'd be hungry now. "Does that sound okay?" He didn't move for a second, but then he nodded. She glanced back at her garden and made a face. "I've got to water my plants real quick. It shouldn't take more than five minutes; is it okay if I do that first?"

Cameron nodded again. She smiled before she picked the hose up off the ground. She started watering the first couple when she noticed that he was lingering. Still hugging himself, the little boy was staring at her garden with the tiniest glow of curiosity. She was quiet at first. But she glanced between him and the garden a couple more times before she cleared her throat. "Look how big the lemons are getting!" Cameron was gnawing on the inside of his cheek. At first, he tried to see them from where he was standing, but he was too far away. It took everything in Emma not to jump with joy when he crept a little closer. He was like a baby deer…she couldn't move too fast, or else she was going to scare him off.

She gestured to the plant as she watered it. It had about three lemons that were almost as big as her fist. "I bet that'll make good lemonade." Cameron nodded. He was still hugging himself. "You wanna know the secret to make the best lemonade ever?" Her eyes were sparkling when he looked at her. "You dump a pound of sugar into it." A smile teased the edges of his lips. "I'm serious— you have to weigh out the whole pound." He laughed a little, and the tiny noise was enough to make her chest split in pain. She wanted to see how far she could nudge him along…but she had to be careful. "What do you think of my garden?" she prompted. "Scale of one to ten?"

He looked at it, still biting on the inside of his cheek. Quietly, he offered: "Ten."

" _Really?_  Huh! Never would have thought it'd be that good! What's your favorite fruit?"

"Um…I like…oranges…"

"Oranges? I don't think we have any of those…" She gave him a smile. "But I'll make sure to remember, so I can get some for you next time I go to the store. That sound good?" He gave her a shy smile and another nod. She noticed his grip on himself was loosening. "Hey— you wanna help water?" He perked when she offered him the hose. Unsurprisingly, he looked doubtful. "There's not much to it. I can show you the rest of the plants, too, while you do." She was almost positive that he was going to say no. That, or just awkwardly stare at her until she gave up. But she was floored when he reached out to actually take it. When, very carefully and thoughtfully, he inched his way over the plants to her.

Her expression was so soft. Her voice was, too. "Here, we can start over here," she offered. "These were the  _first_  vegetables I planted, they're doing the best…"

It didn't take long for Jonathan to realize his brother was gone. He never went this long without seeing him. He put his book down, a little worried, as he got up from the couch and poked his head into the kitchen. There was no one there. He frowned and went to check their rooms, but he wasn't there either. On his way back to the front of the house, Jonathan passed by the sliding door that led outside. He did a double-take when he did, backpedaling when his attention was yanked out to the backyard. His eyes widened. He put his hands on the glass, staring outside in just confusion, at first.

Cameron was with Emma in the garden. He was smiling. It wasn't his  _big_ smile, but Jonathan could tell that he was happier. He was saying something. He just saw his lips move. Emma laughed and said something back. Cameron looked down and watered some more of the plants, the smile staying on his face. Jonathan could barely get his head around it, even though he was seeing it right in front of him. They were…together. Cameron was  _outside_ ,  _alone_ , with  _Emma_ …and he was having an  _okay_  time. He didn't look scared, or nervous. He was  _talking._ It practically slapped him across the face.

At first, he was just shocked. But that look was fast to fade, to be replaced with so much happiness.

The confusion melted off his face, and instead, it broke out into a huge grin.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

"You have to cover your eyes!" Oliver sang. Cameron wilted, staring at him with mistrust and wariness so obvious, it may as well have been spelled out in neon signs. Jonathan was covering his eyes immediately, though. The younger of the two glanced at him, reluctant. He ended up just looking down at the ground. It wasn't covering his eyes but it was the most he was comfortable with, so Oliver wasn't going to say anything. He just smiled and opened the door to Jonathan's room. Emma was standing behind the boys, and she gently herded them inside. Cameron stumbled a little and grimaced, but he got his feet under him and walked inside. When they stopped, Oliver sang again: "Alright, you can look!"

Jonathan was already smiling when he dropped his hands. Cameron slowly picked his head up. The elder gasped, grinning from one ear to the other. Cameron's reaction was much more muted. His eyes widened a little; he mostly looked surprised. But Jonathan was elated when he looked at the new bunk bed. "Woah!" They'd even set it all up. Cameron's blanket and his bear was on the lower bunk. Jonathan could see that there was a new shelf up by the top one, with a lot of his books arranged there. It was perfect! He nudged Cameron a little. "Look, Cam! We can have the same room again!"

He smiled just a little. "Yeah…"

"This is great!" Jonathan tried out the ladder. He hopped onto the top and grinned when the mattress bounced a little. Cameron started over to his bed a lot slower. He sat down too, looking at Oliver and trying to return the smile he was giving him, though his was much more lackluster. "Cam, look!" Jonathan held to the frame of the bed and hung down so he could look at him. Cameron giggled a little, making a face as his brother looked at him, upside-down. "I'm like a bat," he laughed. Cameron just nodded. "C'mon, Cam!" Jonathan urged. "Now we don't have to be apart anymore! Isn't it great?"

"Yeah…" He looked down, picking at his blanket as he mumbled a very soft: "Thank you."

Oliver and Emma both smiled. "You're welcome," Oliver replied, and Cameron's eyes flashed. "We figured you two would like this better. The room isn't big enough for another bed, but this fits just as well." He paused before he added: "You know, if you want different blankets, or if you wanna change anything at all, that's perfectly fine. Or if you want to hang anything up— this is your guys' room, you're free to do whatever you want with it— make it better. And make it feel…more like home." This was said with a tiny bit of apprehension. Cameron's shoulders hunched. His face fell a little.

"No, it's perfect the way it is!" Jonathan rushed.

He grinned. "We just wanted to do something nice for you two…to show you we care."

Jonathan's smile grew even more. And before he could think about it, it fell out. "Thanks, Dad!"

Everyone froze when he said this. Oliver and Emma's eyes went wide. Jonathan looked surprised and shocked at  _himself_ , clearly having not said this with conscious thought. But out of all of them, the sharpest reaction was undoubtedly Cameron's. The instant he heard him call him  _Dad,_ every joint in his body was locking up. His eyes went huge and his face paled. It looked like someone had punched him in the stomach. He didn't look up…he just stared down at his hands, which were clenched together tight. He was staring at the scarred tears that wrapped around his wrist, as his vision gradually began to smear.

"Oh…I mean…" The air was heavy with awkwardness as Jonathan reached for something to say.

"Don't worry about it, Jonathan," Oliver said quietly— affectionately. Jonathan looked embarrassed, but the man just smiled, looking like he'd been handed a million dollars. "It's alright." Cameron's chest felt like someone was carving into it. Jonathan  _never_ called their dad, Dad. He always called him by his name. Now he was calling Oliver Dad. Suddenly his throat felt tight and hot.

Oliver was saying something else, but Cameron didn't want to listen. He laid down, twisting so his back was to the adults. He curled his knees up to his chest and grabbed his bear, squeezing it to him just as tightly as he ducked his head into it. He tried to ignore the ache in his heart, as he thought of how happy Oliver had looked when he'd been called that. And tried not to cry too noticeably when he remembered how soft his dad's expression had been, and how tender his voice was when he had murmured: "You're my star."

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Jonathan woke up in the middle of the night. And again, he woke up because he heard crying. Instead of it being in his ear, though, now it was coming from the bed below. It was still just as loud. He laid there for a couple of seconds, regathering himself. He took in a slow breath, rubbing his eyes as he rolled onto his back. He stared up at the ceiling with despair, as he listened to his brother's sniffling and whimpering. He counted to ten, taking in a couple of deep breaths before he got out of the blankets and down the ladder.

Cameron was curled up on his side, crying into his bear like he always did. Jonathan studied him for a second, trying to figure out if he was awake or asleep. He was getting better at telling the difference. He called out a soft: "Cameron?" There wasn't a pause in his brother's crying. He just kept going. That's when Jonathan knew he was still asleep. He crept closer and sat down on the edge of his mattress. He reached over to put a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Cam…Cam, wake up." His little brother just kept sobbing. He started rubbing his arm, curling a little closer. "Cam…it's a bad dream…you gotta wake up…!"

It took a second, but Cameron's eyes eventually snapped open. Jonathan was pained at the sheer amount of fear on his face. At first, he floundered, like he always did, too confused to tell what was going on. Jonathan shifted a little closer and that's when Cameron must have felt his hand. He jerked, his head whipping up to look at him. He gave him a reassuring smile, trying to hide how much it hurt. "You're okay, Cam," he whispered. His brother choked, whimpering again, even though he was back in reality. Jonathan shook his head, reaching out to fix his hair. "It was just another nightmare," he soothed. "That's all it was."

Cameron was silent for a while, save for his crying and choking. Jonathan just focused on keeping his touch gentle when he carded through his hair. "I was stuck…" he started crying. Jonathan weakened, but he didn't interrupt. "I was stuck again, I couldn't— I couldn't get out I couldn't do anything, I was stuck…" It killed Jonathan, to hear how terrified he was. It killed him even more when, not for the first time, he wondered what had happened during that week they couldn't find him. Cameron never uttered a word about what had happened during that time. But Jonathan knew it had to be even worse than anything he could force himself to imagine. With the way he had found him…all the injuries he'd had…it had to be awful…

And that was just that  _one_ person. It wasn't even considering the other  _hundreds._

"Do you want to talk about it?" Jonathan whispered.

As he expected, Cameron shook his head fast.

He hesitated. Before he asked the question he had been asking for the past three years. "Do you want me to stay?"

As he expected, Cameron nodded.

He would have stayed regardless. Jonathan shifted and Cameron moved so he could lay down. He wrapped his arms around him and Cameron immediately rushed to tuck his head underneath his, his forehead against his collarbone. "You're alright…" Jonathan whispered. Cameron choked, clinging to him now, instead of his stuffed animal. "You're okay now." He gave him a tiny kiss on the top of his head. He was gradually breathing slower. "You can go back to bed. You won't have bad dreams now that I'm here…"

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

"Is your room clean?" Emma asked.

"We cleaned it when we got up," Jonathan chirped. They were sitting at the table, coloring. Jonathan had let Cameron borrow one of his coloring books; together they'd passed the time that way while Emma made lunch. Cameron was coloring a flower pink; Jonathan was coloring a dinosaur green. They were waiting out the day. Cornelius was gonna spend the night, tonight. Emma had talked to her mom last night on the phone. Jonathan had never met her mom before— he hadn't even heard anything about her, really. But apparently, she gave permission for her to come. Which kind of made the rest of the details unimportant.

She looked over at them and smiled. "Jonathan, what's that color?" she prompted.

He grinned, and carefully replied: "Grænn."

She smiled. "Yeah! Cameron, do you know the word for your color?"

He actually seemed kind of pleased that he did. "Bleikur."

Her smile turned into a beam.  _"Very_  good! That was a hard one!" She pursed her lips before she reached into the sink and picked up a blue cup. "What's this?" she asked.

They both looked up. Cameron answered, "Blár," for blue. At the same time, Jonathan said, "Cup," for…well, cup.

They looked at each other; Emma laughed. "You're both right! Good job!" Her voice grew warmer when she added: "I'm so proud of both of you." Jonathan was overjoyed at the praise. At the approval and affection he never got from Sebastian. Even Cameron smiled. Emma turned back to the stove, but she kept talking. "There's not another word for sleepover, either, in Icelandic…so you have that going or you."

"I've never had a sleepover, before," Jonathan grinned. Cameron glanced at him. He rested his head on his hand, looking back down as he kept coloring. "I'm excited."

"I remember my first sleepover," she recounted, her smile growing fonder. "It was for my friend's eighth birthday. There was cake, and presents…and we all brought our bikes over so we could go around the neighborhood together. Hopefully, you guys will have just as much fun."

"We will," Jonathan assured. "It'll be great!" He started to look back down at his coloring book, when he stopped short, frowning when he noticed the look on Cameron's face. His brother was coloring the same petal in the same spot…even though it was already filled in. He looked distracted. "Cam?" Jonathan leaned a little closer and poked him. "Cam, what's wrong?"

He stirred, blinking fast. "Oh, I…just…" He frowned, sitting back in his chair as he dropped his arm. Suddenly, his expression was heavy. He looked at his brother, and Jonathan's mouth ran dry when he asked in a very small voice: "Have…have  _I…_ had a sleepover…?"

The kitchen went silent. Jonathan's heart was in his throat. Emma looked over her shoulder, wilting as she put her spoon down. At first, he wasn't sure what to say. But thankfully he recovered and shook his head. "Of course not, Cam," he reassured. Cameron looked at him doubtfully. Jonathan just shook his head again. "Of course not. We've never had a sleepover— we're both gonna have a lot of fun." Cameron hesitated before he gave a couple of tiny nods. He looked back down and slowly returned to his coloring. Emma kept studying him with a sorrowful frown. Jonathan let his expression get a little sad, too, once he looked down. But he brushed it off. Told himself it wasn't good in linger on it.

He pasted a smile on his face and went back to his own coloring, hoping she would look away too.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Dinner was done. It went how it usually did— Emma and Oliver and Jonathan talking, while Cameron mostly listened. He was talking more than he used to, here and there. But it wasn't easy to be satisfied with it. It wasn't even that Oliver was frustrated with the fact that Cameron wouldn't talk to him. He was just frustrated with the fact that he didn't seem  _happy._ He didn't  _have_  to talk to him— Oliver just wanted him to have an easier time. He wanted to see him smile more. He wanted to hear him talk above a mumble, so he didn't sound so scared all the time. Oliver wasn't frustrated with Cameron, he was mad at Sebastian. He could never bring himself to feel anything even close to irritation for the little boy.

He just…wished he could make it better, for him.

They were at the sink, washing the dishes from dinner. The boys had disappeared. Emma glanced at him; her expression grew sympathetic. "You okay?" He must have been wearing his emotions too much on his sleeve. She leaned over and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "It'll be okay," she murmured. He nodded. "It's getting better every day. He spent an hour with me, today, in the garden. Maybe…you just need to find something like that. Something he likes too, that'll…" She trailed off, not that sure how to finish.

He smiled again, but it was weaker.

She softened, giving him another kiss on the cheek. "It'll happen," she promised.

"Maybe." He tried to keep doing dishes, but after a while, he took in a deeper breath. "Is it alright if I step outside really quick? Just…get some air?" She studied him before he gave him that soft grin again and nodded. He kissed her cheek before he started for the backyard. It was nicer out tonight. He just needed to breathe for a second. He slid open the door and stepped out. His eyes went to the garden, trying to picture how it must have felt for his wife to finally have him be happy, around her. He was a little ashamed of his jealousy over the idea, but there was no denying it. He would do anything to get a little closer to Cameron.

He shut the door behind him and stuffed his hands into his pockets. He looked up at the sky and all the stars. He was about to go and sit down in one of the chairs on their patio, when he froze, realizing someone was already there. Cameron was staring at him with big eyes, looking a little alarmed at his sudden arrival. Oliver jerked to a stop, staring at him just as blankly. For a couple of seconds, there was an awkward silence. Cameron brought his legs up to his chest. "Oh, I— sorry, I didn't realize you were out here," Oliver began to blurt out. Cameron said nothing. He started to take a couple of steps back. "I…I'll just…go—"

To his shock, Cameron mumbled: "You don't have to go back in." His eyebrows drew together a little. Cameron slouched more in the chair, looking down at his knees. "Just because I'm out here doesn't mean you can't be." He felt a little bad, at the insinuation he was avoiding him…but he couldn't really say he  _wasn't_. For a second he just kind of stood there stupidly. But eventually, reluctantly, he started over. Cameron's eyes tracked him every step of the way, but he said nothing when he sat down across from him. And to Oliver's continuing disbelief, he didn't leave, either. He just looked back down at his knees.

They sat in uncomfortable silence for a long time. The tension was choking.

Oliver scrounged up the courage to break it. "How are you?" Not the best. But whatever.

Cameron shrugged one shoulder, not looking up. "Fine." He said nothing else.

He nodded slowly. "That's good," he attempted. Cameron shrugged again. It was a couple more long seconds of silence before Oliver tilted his head to the side. "What're you doing out here?" It was rare to see Cameron or Jonathan without the other. They were connected at the hip, most of the time. It was getting on the later side, too. Usually, they were both getting ready for bed, about now.

He was quiet for a while. Before he confessed softly: "I don't wanna sleep…I have nightmares."

He had to choke back the sorrow and anger the simple announcement created. He'd figured it was the case. Cameron was a walking zombie sometimes, he was so tired. His eyes looked bruised, they were so puffy and the bags under them were so dark. But hearing it from his mouth, and hearing how exhausted and sad he was, stabbed through his heart. "I'm sorry to hear that…" Again, he just got that shrug. "I always…thought it was easier to go to sleep when you had some tea before you laid down."

"I don't have trouble  _falling_  asleep; I don't  _want_  to sleep," Cameron resisted. "At all."

He nodded. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to say. He studied him, trying to figure it out. Eventually, he spoke, his voice just as soft as Cameron's. "Do you…want to talk about anything?"

Cameron's eyes flickered to him. He curled a little tighter.

He looked down at his hands. Took in a slow breath…and forced himself to speak. "I'm…sorry, for…the things I've done that might have…upset you." Cameron's eyes went to him again. He didn't look away this time. "I'm still new at this whole thing. I'm doing my best, but…I'll be the first to say I'm not perfect." He tried to laugh at this; Cameron just kept staring. "I saw you were…kind of upset…when Jonathan called me Dad, the other day…" This got him to look away. Oliver grimaced. "I just…I want you to know…you don't have to think of me that way if it bothers you." He looked back. "I don't want you to feel like it's something you have to do. You don't have to think of Emma and I like your parents."

His forehead creased. "Isn't that what this is?" His voice was flat. "We have to stay here."

"You don't  _have_  to do anything, Cameron," he objected, just as quietly. Cameron weakened. "You  _never have_ to do  _anything._ Ever again." He remembered how upset Emma had been when she had said she wanted them to stay here. He wanted them to stay, too. But he also knew that above his own happiness, he wanted Cameron's happiness. However, that would come. "If you want to leave, you could. We could make the arrangements." He straightened with surprise. He tried not to notice the pain in his chest when he did.

"Jonathan likes it here," he murmured eventually.

"Do  _you?"_  he returned.

Cameron's shoulders hunched. He wilted. "It doesn't matter what I like…"

His heart tugged again. "Don't say that, Cameron. Don't  _ever_ say that. You  _always_ matter. You never should have been made to feel like you didn't. And I'm deeply sorry that you were…" Cameron's eyes were raw with pain, but at least he was holding his gaze. "Jonathan  _does_  like it here. We like having him here…just like we like having you here, too." He didn't seem all that trusting of this sentiment, but he let it go past without arguing. "But…you don't have to think of us as...your parents. If you don't want to."

"What else am I supposed to think of you as?"

The question surprised him a little. It took him a second to think of what a good reply would be. "As…people who care about you. And just want you to be safe. And happy." Cameron's face fell, but Oliver smiled at him. "That's all. We'll care about you. And we'll protect you. We'll ask you about your day…we'll have dinners with you, and want to comfort you when you're sad…but we don't have to be your parents. I don't have to be your dad. Emma doesn't have to be your mom. If it makes you feel better…"

Cameron studied his knees. His voice was even more choked when he asked a tiny: "Why?"

He did a double-take. "'Why?'" he echoed. "Why…do we—?"

" _Why_ do you care about me so much?" Cameron demanded, harder. There was the tiniest hint of a glare on his face. But there was also the tiniest hint of tears in his eyes, as well. "You don't  _know_  me. You only know Jonathan— is that why you want me to be happy? Because you like  _him?"_

"We like  _both_  of you," Oliver objected. "You  _and_ Jonathan. We—"

"Do you love Jonathan?" he pressed.

Again, he was surprised at the question. "I…yes," he answered. "Yes, we love him."

Cameron's eyes welled more. "Do you love  _me?"_ he snapped.

This was said automatically. "I do. We  _both_  do."

"How?" Oliver didn't know how to answer. He just stared at him, his mouth dry and expression pained. Cameron's eyes stayed narrowed and glistening with tears. He glared at his knees again. He was silent for a long time, but Oliver gave him however long he needed to think. He wilted, looking to the side as he hunched his shoulders again. He sniffled. Closed his eyes.  _"How_ can you love me?" His voice was weaker, with this. "I don't…I don't get it…"

"What don't you get?" he murmured.

He tried to glare harder, but it ended up breaking, on him. Oliver wouldn't be surprised if an entire minute passed in silence. Cameron wiped his eyes. "When I was…nine…I didn't…" The man's eyes widened a little, as he realized what he was doing. Opening up. Shock made him freeze in place. He just stared at him, hardly daring to breathe. Cameron kept going, but his voice was clogged with tears. "I went to…someone's house. They wanted me to…do something…I didn't wanna do it…I said no…" Oliver weakened but kept listening. "They were mad…but I…I did all the  _other_ stuff they wanted, so…"

He sniffed again and wiped his eyes. "When Dad came back to get me…they said they wanted their money back. 'Cause I wasn't what they were promised." Oliver was horrified by the casual tone he was using to describe such a horrible thing. But maybe using so casual a voice made it easier to get out, somehow. "I just…sat between them as they kept fighting. Eventually, they figured something out— I don't really remember what happened then, I wasn't paying attention. But…I remember what happened after we got outside." Cameron was staring ahead blankly like he was watching something that Oliver couldn't see.

"I started to get in the car. But…Dad grabbed my arm…and yanked me around really hard." Oliver's stomach dropped; his heart twisted. Cameron still wasn't looking at him. That was good; he wasn't sure what kind of look would be on his face. "He threw me against the car…and asked me what the hell my problem was…" His voice was just a rasp. "I tried telling him I just…didn't want to  _do_ that… _one_ thing…but he was angry. He wouldn't listen. When I kept trying to explain…he just got sick of it and hit me. As hard as he could…right there, just 'cause it was too early for anyone else to be up and see him do it.

"He said he was disappointed in me and that I didn't care about anyone but myself. He said…he went to a lot of effort…to find… _nice_ …people. But…" He choked back a swallow. More and more tears were blinking down his face. "But that if I kept doing things like this, he would go out of his way to find the worst people he could. So that I'd see what awful  _really_ was. And then…he made me go back in, and…apologize, and then…" He gasped in harder, wiping his eyes. He looked miserable when he dropped his arm back down. "After, I went back to the car…I was crying. I tried not to, but…" He sniffed. "He just glared at me…told me to grow up…and he didn't say anything to me for the rest of the day."

Oliver felt like he was going to be sick. "Cameron…I'm so sorry…"

Cameron shook his head. "He would do something like that…but then…the very next day he would… _smile_ at me, and tell me he loved me. It was like he was two parts. And I just… _always_ was  _trying_ to get him to be that  _other_ part. And telling myself…that it was  _my_ fault whenever he was the other one. It wasn't  _always_ bad. There were  _good_ times. When he hugged me, when he got me presents when he told me I was special. And then he would yell at me…tell me I was useless…hit me so hard I would…pass out." His lips wavered. "I tried to do everything he wanted…so he would be happy, and he would…love me. But…he didn't. I  _thought_ he did, but…but if he really loved me, he would never have…"

He flinched, hugging his legs. "I did  _everything…_ nothing worked. And now all of a sudden, you just… _say_ you love me, and I didn't even  _do anything_ to get that. You don't have a  _reason."_

"You don't need a reason to love someone, Cameron," Oliver objected softly. "You just  _do_."

He started crying harder. "Then why couldn't my dad love me?"

The question stabbed him through. "I…I don't know…" he whispered. "Sebastian was an awful man. It's horrible…what he did to you and your brother. He didn't see how amazing you two are…or how lucky he was to be able to be your dad. He should have loved you…and we're so sorry he didn't. That's why…we just want what's best for you. So you can have what you  _should_  have from the very beginning."

Understanding began to dawn over him. He leaned a little closer. "Cameron…you don't owe your father anything. He  _wasn't_ a father. He  _wasn't_ a Dad. You don't have to feel guilty…" He thought of how he watched Jonathan and them talk during dinner, or laugh together. How detached and sad he seemed. How reluctant each and every one of his smiles were. How he didn't laugh for very long, before he was stopping, trailing off as his smile just faded and he looked down. His understanding was cementing. "You don't have to feel guilty for being happy, Cameron." The boy's tears welled faster. Oliver softened. "You don't have to feel bad for moving on.  _He_ deserves to feel guilty,  _not_  you. The only thing you deserve is to be happy. You can finally have that, here. If you want it."

He choked back a lump in his throat. "It's too good to be true," he whispered.  _"You're_ too good to be true…all of this is." His heart broke as he watched the little boy curl into himself. As he watched his lips waver and his shoulders shake. "It's gonna get bad again. Somehow. Like it always did with Dad. If I let myself be happy I'll just be more disappointed…when we have to leave, or when me and Johnny get split up, or when you yell at him, or you hurt him…" He started to breathe faster. "Or when Dad comes back and gets me, like he always does, and we have to leave and everything starts again— I can't be happy, because then I'll just remember it and I'll miss it more and I'll remember when I  _had_  someone that actually loved me and said they wanted what was best for me, and it'll make everything worse and I won't be as able to pretend everything is okay—"

He was starting to hyperventilate. Before Oliver could think, he rushed over. He knelt down and put his hands on his shoulders. Cameron gasped hard, tears rushing down his face. Oliver shook his head. "Cameron…you don't have to worry about that…" Cameron sniffed. He smiled at him tenderly. "Your father is never going to come back for you.  _Ever._ You're safe, here, and we're going to make sure you  _stay_  safe. You don't have to worry about not being loved. You don't have to worry about getting hurt. You don't have to worry about me or Emma changing. Not with us. You have a home, here…that won't change."

He hesitated. Before he croaked: "Do you promise…?"

"Of course. I  _promise_  you, Cameron. From now on, everything is going to be okay."

He wiped his eyes. He stopped crying and took in a slow breath. All he did was nod a little, but it brought a rush of relief and love to clutch at Oliver's chest. Cameron watched as he went back to sit in the chair across from him. For a second, that awkward silence was back. Before Oliver cleared his throat and looked up. "Do you know stars like your brother does?" Cameron sniffed again, following his gaze. "He surprised me— he can name  _tons_ of them. He even taught me some. Before, I only knew Orion's Belt." It took a second, but he found the three stars and pointed them out. Cameron tilted his head, to see better. "But he told me about crazy things…like…Aquila. There. And…Lyra. Over there."

Cameron wiped his eyes. He was quiet. Until Oliver's heart skipped a beat when he pointed up at another piece of the sky. "He's taught me…Scorpius. Up there…the…branch-looking thing," he mumbled.

He scooted a little closer. Cameron didn't react badly. "Oh yeah…what's your favorite one?"

"I like Ursa Minor…"

Oliver cracked a smile. "Why not Ursa Major?"

"Because that's Jonathan's favorite." He paused. Oliver laughed. Cameron was quiet for a while before he announced suddenly: "I have a magic trick…to make the moon disappear."

" _What?"_ he exclaimed, with very dramatic disbelief. Cameron ducked, hiding his grin. "You can't make the  _moon_ disappear."

"Yeah you  _can!"_ he flashed back.

He made a show of turning, putting his head on his hand. "Well, now you  _have_  to explain."

Cameron's smile grew a little. He paused. Before he caved.

Oliver was a patient and attentive audience. He gasped in all the right places and asked questions in all the other ones. Cameron was smiling more and more, the longer he elaborated. He was even talking a little bit with his hands. Oliver was almost too happy to pay attention to what he was saying. It was the first time Cameron actually looked relaxed. And it was  _certainly_  the new longest time he'd talked to him at one time. Cameron finished his explanation in a couple of minutes, which led to Oliver demanding he tell him about another trick he made. More than ten minutes passed that way— every single one, Oliver smiling more and more. But eventually, a call made Cameron stop talking.

"Cam!" They both turned. Jonathan was poking his head outside. He was grinning at the sight of them sitting together. But he still yelled out: "Emma says it's time to go to bed!"

"Okay!" Jonathan was still grinning when he went back inside. Cameron looked after him for a couple of seconds, before he glanced at Oliver, a bit of the awkwardness coming back. "I'm gonna go…"

He smiled. "It was nice talking to you." Cameron nodded, still a bit awkwardly. "Goodnight, Cameron. If you…" The boy had gotten up to start walking, but he stopped with this. "If you wake up and can't go back to sleep, you can wake me up, too. If you want some company. You can teach me more stars if you want. Or you can put your money where your mouth is, and you can actually make the moon disappear," he added, a little slyer.

Cameron cracked a wary smile. "I probably won't…" He hesitated before he added: "But thank you."

He just shrugged and nodded.

Still, he was hesitating. "…Goodnight," he mumbled. "Thank you, for…talking to me."

He nodded again.

"You won't…tell anyone…what I said…right?"

"Course not," he returned. "Just between us."

"Okay…" He repeated himself, even more awkward. "…Goodnight."

Oliver laughed a little. "Goodnight, Cam."

He turned for the house. He took a couple of steps. Before he stopped short and suddenly whirled around, dashing back and giving him a hug. It was barely anything at all; it lasted less than five seconds. He didn't even have the time to hug him back before he was pulling away and muttering a third and final: "Goodnight." Oliver watched him go with eyes that were wider than normal. He rushed away, and slammed the sliding door closed, not glancing back at him once. Despite it, though, a slow smile was spreading over the man's face. A load was being lifted just a little bit off his shoulders. Hope began to warm his chest.

He remembered his own words he'd said to Emma a while ago. Reaffirmed how true it was.

_He just needs time…_


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is gonna be a trust fall. 
> 
> I hope you like it, this chapter is one of the most important ones and I wanted to do it justice, I hope it goes smoothly. There was just a lot that needed to happen at once. However, I'm not usually too pleased with my chapters in general so this isn't too different I suppose, haha. The next chapter of this is actually already done! So hopefully I can get some feedback for this one and then that update will be very quick. In the meantime, I hope you like this one, and I hope it makes you excited for what's coming next! Thank you very much for reading, and thank you especially to those who have been kind enough to leave their support! <3  
> Also, just to be clear, this chapter starts in the beginning of the show's timeline~
> 
> Also also, thanks to my friend Penny for helping me write the sleepover part of the story~!

"All we need to do is talk to the witnesses," Kay insisted. "Then it'll all make sense."

"How can you know for sure?" Mike demanded.

" _Because, any_ explanation would make more sense than the one you tried to give me," she huffed, accompanying the irritated retort with a just-as-irritated roll of the eyes. They were heading down the hall, to the room their first witness would be waiting. Mike looked put-out, but given that the day had  _just been_ almost over before  _this_ came out to guarantee she be here for another handful of hours at  _least,_ and she hadn't had coffee in over eight hours,  _and_ she'd been met with such a  _crappy_  excuse for a case, Kay didn't really care all that much. "A bank robbery doesn't just  _happen_  like that."

"Did you watch the security footage?"Again, she rolled her eyes. "Watch the security footage and  _tell me_ that's not  _exactly_  what happened! C'mon, Kay, even  _you_ can't argue it, this time."

They reached the room, and Kay pulled off her whopping third eye roll before she opened it and let herself inside. The witness perked when they did. She barely managed to offer him a smile. She'd had it up to  _here_ with this day. "Hello, sir." She tried not to let the greeting come out in  _too_ much of a sigh. "We're just going to ask you a few questions about what you saw today— you're not in any trouble, we just want to see whether or not anything you can tell us might help our investigation." She memorized the script by now. "I'm Agent Kay Daniels, this is my partner Mike Alveraz."

"Hey, can I cash my check?" She'd started to sit down, but she stopped short, with the sudden question. She made a face and frowned. He was staring at her very innocently. She started to open her mouth and ask him what the hell he was talking about when he elaborated by himself. "The  _only thing_ I had to do this morning was cash this check, and instead,  _right_ when I  _finally_ got up to the counter, I was  _wildly_ inconvenienced. My friends have a running joke that I literally can never get anything done, and if I don't cash this check I'm proving them right." She was staring at him in a way that clearly communicated:  _'What?'_ All he did was tack on: "They're  _really_ annoying when they're right. You've got  _no_ idea."

After a couple of seconds, she cleared her throat. She put on a smile, but it was probably not at all very convincing. "Sir, if you would just let us ask you a couple questions—"

"And then I can cash my check?" This time, when she looked at him, she was certain she saw a snarky glint in his eye. He was trying not to smirk when her eyes met his. Her own eye twitched a little, and his smile grew even more. She was already done with this witness. She already wanted to move on.

Her smile turned much too friendly to be considered genuine. "I'm  _sure_ once this is over, you can find another bank that will cash your check." His eyes just glinted more. He leaned more on the table and balanced his head on his hand. Everything  _about_ this person was cheeky. She didn't have any tolerance for it; not today. "If you could just start with a narrative of what you saw, we can go from there and—"

She was cut off when something hit her arm. The  _something_ being her  _partner._ Mike slapped her arm, and she whirled around,  _very_ much in the mood to respond by punching him in the face. But she was caught off guard by his expression. He was staring at their witness with eyes as big as dinner plates. His mouth was a little open. She hadn't noticed, but now she realized he'd been silent this entire time. Now, with a very loud gasp, he seemed to have found his voice. Their witness' cheeky demeanor seemed to deflate a little. All Mike got out, was:  _"Kay."_

" _What?"_ she hissed back. He just hit her again, and now she really  _was_ wanting to punch him.

" _That's— he's— Kay, that's—"_

She was  _very_ done. Inhaling through her nose, she turned back to her witness and prompted curtly: "The narrative. Please."  _Please._  "My  _partner_ here, along with everyone else on the case, is under the impression the robbers just  _vanished_ into thin air. Which  _can't_ be the right story, so we're just trying to—"

"But it is," he interjected.

She did  _another_ double-take. Before: "…Excuse me?"

"That's what happened," he stated. She stared at him blankly. The way he was looking back at her, though, was much too similar to the way a teacher would look at their student trying to understand the quadratic formula…after they'd explained it  _six_ times already. He leaned back and tilted his head to the side. "That  _is_ the right story," he corrected, almost patiently. "They  _did_ vanish."

She wondered whether or not she was on a hidden camera show. She blanched for a couple more seconds, just staring at him dumbly. That snarkiness was back a little, in his blue eyes. The biggest smile in the world was spreading across Mike's face, in the meantime. Finally, she managed to get her voice back. "N-… _No._ They  _didn't._ They  _couldn't,"_ she objected. "People can't just… _disappear."_

" _Sure_  they can," he quipped. "I do it almost every night."

She was back to confused silence.

He started to smirk. "Want me to show you?"

(~**~) (~**~) (~**) (~**~)

She followed him in. As confused and – still just a little – annoyed as she was, she had to stop and admire the place he'd brought her to. He'd called it 'The Archive.' It seemed overdramatic, to her. If this was just their house. But it was beautiful. There were huge windows, to let in the light, and the city, too. The kitchen was expansive, with bar stools along an island, and not too far away what looked like an elaborate coffee machine. There looked to be about a million hallways that branched off this one living area. The walls were decorated floor to ceiling. As she walked in, her eyes grazed over the decor.

"Hey, guys!" Kay roused at the call. She looked back front.

There were five people sitting together on the couches like they'd been waiting. Though she was certain they weren't, going by the confusion that was on their faces when they noticed her.

The first thing that was said wasn't directed towards her, though. The one with the dark hair was looking at him, instead, and he immediately demanded: "Did you cash the check?"

He lifted a finger briefly before he pointed at him. "Instead of asking me  _that_  question," one of the girls grumbled: 'He didn't cash the check," while the  _other_ girl grumbled: 'Why did we ask  _him_ to cash the check?', "how about…you ask why I brought home a  _stray FBI agent!"_  he ended with a cheer.

Someone sat up. They'd been laying with their head in the lap of one of the girl's. Kay was a little caught off-guard. They were the twin— they matched perfectly. But when she laid eyes on him, they flashed, and her stomach tightened a little. He just eyed her for a moment, before he looked at his brother, unimpressed. "What, you didn't get your fill of them?" His brother shot him a glare, to which he actually seemed to get guilty from. His voice was more apologetic. "Okay…I'll bite—  _please_ tell us why you brought home an FBI agent  _unless_ it's because you're getting arrested." He laid back down. The woman – she had long, straightened brown hair and kind blue eyes –went back to playing with his hair. "In which case, it's too early— come back with that news later, please."

"Unfortunately for you all, I  _didn't_ get arrested." The dark-haired one made a face and mournful noise as he slouched back into the couch.  _"We_ are going to help solve a bank robbery!"

A few moments of silence. Before the man who had been silent up to now asked: "Why?"

"Why  _not?"_

"Because we have a tour in like,  _three months?"_ his twin prompted.

"Yeah…and until then, I'm bored." His twin rolled his eyes. He sat up again and this time settled to lean against the woman. She shot him a fond smile. Kay was feeling more and more awkward the longer she was standing here. "Come on! It's  _interesting,_ don't you want to help catch some bad guys? Listen— I was  _going_ to cash the check this morning when there was a bank robbery. And the group just  _disappeared_! They don't believe it because they can't explain it. But guess who probably  _could_?" He left a gap. When nobody answered he answered  _himself. "We_ could! We could figure out how they did it and to catch them!"

Nobody exactly  _argued._ But nobody really agreed, either.

"Look— what  _else_ are we doing this morning?"

The one with the dark hair grumbled:  _"Nothing,_ now that you didn't cash that  _check."_

"So let's do this!" Nobody seemed very excited. But they all exchanged a glance, and then looked at Kay. They were silent, and he took the silence as an agreement. He cleared his throat and turned back to her. "Kay, I'd like you to meet, the Deception Team!" he declared. He pointed to the dark-haired one. "That's Jordan, he's the tech guy of the group." He offered a wave, which she reluctantly returned. "That's Gunter." He pointed to the one that had been mostly quiet up to now. "He's our grandfather clock— useful, but old." The polite smile he'd given her disappeared and was replaced with a furious glare he shot at him.

"And that's Dina, she's our producer." The woman smiled. Kay returned this more readily. He pointed to the woman with the straight hair that was sitting close to his brother. "This is Cornelius, she's the…" He trailed off, thinking for a moment, before he grinned at her. She shot a just-as-playful grin back at him when he declared: "She's our everything else." They exchanged a friendly smile. All that was left in terms of introduction was his twin. He was giving her a smile identical to the others—polite yet reserved.

"And  _this_ is my twin brother, Cameron."

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

She'd thought the archive looked beautiful before, but at night it was even more so. The entire place was lit with lights that were strung along the ceiling. The glow was soft, and it made shadows on the brick walls. Music was being played from somewhere— she wasn't quite sure where. Along with being a 'Master of Deception' Dina also seemed to be a Master Chef. Food of all kinds lined the long dining table. They'd cracked open the drinks, too— it was a celebration. Somehow, they'd managed to pull off the impossible and catch the men who had 'disappeared' into thin air. It wasn't an everyday accomplishment.

A lot of other agents had been invited. Deakins had even come, when everyone was fairly certain she never left the headquarters— that she most likely  _lived_  there. When Mike had been included in the invitation he had basically exploded. Now, he was walking around the entire archive like his mind was wiped clean and he was trying to figure out what planet he was on. Apparently, they had in Mike the world's biggest fanboy. Kay would be lying if she said she didn't know about 'The Great Cameron and Jonathan Black.' Though her interest was largely founded on a reason very different from Mike's.

Her eyes were drawn to the left. Cameron and Cornelius were standing together, a little removed from the party. Cameron was smiling and laughing at something she'd said. Her tough demeanor dropped for a bit as she looked at him adoringly. Kay watched as he leaned over and planted a tiny kiss on her cheek. They started forward— it looked like they were going back to mingling. Before she could wonder whether or not they would come over to her, there was a tiny clink against her glass. She turned, a little surprised, but smiled when she realized Dina had come over.

She was smiling; Kay caught the contagious grin. She liked Dina. Dina and Cornelius were the only girls on the team and she'd taken a liking to them almost immediately. "So," Dina mused. "What do you think of our ragtag group? A little more than meets the eye?"

Kay smiled. "I would say so," she relented. "We couldn't have done this without you; thank you."

"It was our pleasure," she laughed. "Though  _don't_ make a habit out of it," she tacked on, sounding like she was only half-joking. "We have another tour coming up soon— it's already a  _nightmare_ whipping those two into shape enough to pull it off. If we're all still running around with the FBI it'll make it even harder. I swear— between Gunter and Jordan fighting day and night, and Cameron and Jonathan being… _Cameron and Jonathan,_ if it wasn't for me and Cornelius, we would never get things done. You've seen how they all are." She sounded like an exasperated mother. It made Kay laugh.

"Yes…" She looked back over to see that Mike had inevitably found his way to Cameron. Cameron was smiling, though, and apparently putting up with whatever questions he was pestering with, however rapid-fire. Cornelius had drifted from his side; she didn't see her. Her smile faded a little. She looked down at her drink, and all the bubbles dancing on the surface. She tilted the cup to the left and the right, watching the liquid shift right along with it. Eventually, she forced herself to speak. "Dina…can I ask something?"

Dina's smile deflated, as well. She glanced at Cameron too, and Kay was positive she already knew what she was going to ask. Nonetheless, she nodded. Her voice was quieter when she said: "Of course."

She wanted to be careful…she didn't want to overstep boundaries that were clearly there, considering she had just met them all. But her curiosity was too great. "I just…wanted to ask… _why."_ Everyone knew. If you knew the names Cameron and Jonathan Black, you  _had_  to know. The awful, tragic story, behind the two now-world-famous magicians. It baffled her. How the two of them, with all that performing magic had led to before, would grow up to take on the profession again, and take it on by storm.

If Kay was in Cameron's position – though she couldn't even begin to fathom how difficult his position  _was_  – she wouldn't want anything to do with magic. She wouldn't want anything to do with anything that could even  _remotely_ remind her of the past. Yet here Cameron was, fully surrounded by it…and he looked happy. He looked  _so_ happy. It was strange. She would ask Cameron herself, but throughout the entire case, they hadn't said all that much. They hadn't even really had one conversation between them that wasn't about the case. Mostly, he thought out loud to Jonathan. With the two of them together, it had only taken a little over a day to pull everything off.

Dina smiled again, but it was sadder. "That's the million-dollar question, isn't it?" Kay was just relieved she didn't seem angry. Maybe she got that question a lot. "I'm not sure myself, sometimes," she murmured. "But…I think it's mostly because…this is the life they  _would_  have had. If…things hadn't gone the way they did." She was regaining her smile; her eyes were soft with affection when she glanced back at Cameron, who was putting his drink aside to do a card trick for Mike. "I have a feeling they were sick of their father taking things from them."

Despite herself and her misgivings, Kay's chest pulled with a certain amount of emotion. "That's very admirable…" she murmured. Mike was reduced to an excited schoolboy, practically jumping up and down. Cameron looked a little overwhelmed at how ecstatic he actually was. "I can't even imagine…"

"My advice…is to not," she offered. Kay glanced at her, but all that was on Dina's face was kindness. "That's all  _they_ try and do." Kay's eyes flashed. She nodded a little. Dina nodded too and reached out to let her hand rest on her shoulder for a few seconds. Then she was stepping away, delving back into the party. She left Kay alone. She frowned, looking around aimlessly for a moment before her eyes snagged again. The grip on her glass tightened. But she only paused for a couple more seconds before she started walking.

It was nice, out. There was a breeze, on the balcony. Jonathan was leaning against the wall, looking out across New York. He seemed thoughtful, but when she spoke, he straightened and turned. "How come you're not inside?" Their eyes met as she walked closer. He smiled, and she found that she did, too. She leaned so that one arm was braced on the wall, and she could face him. He did the same. "I would have thought you'd be the life of the party."

"Who,  _me?"_  he asked innocently. She laughed.

There was a brief moment of silence between the two, before she cleared her throat and offered: "Thank you…for offering to help the way you did. You were really great, today."

He raised his eyebrows, smirking a little. " _'Great?'"_ he asked. She rolled her eyes. "Wow…I was expecting a 'thank-you', but not a  _great._ I'm a little surprised!"

"It was a  _collective_ you," she corrected. "It was a team effort."

He nodded. "You're right." He smiled when he prompted: "So does that make  _us_ a team, now? You're gonna need us when you can't figure out how the murderer makes a rabbit pop out of his hat."

"Aren't you busy with tours?"

"We don't start for a while," he defended. "And besides…it was fun. It was something different."

"The Great Jonathan Black is tired of magic shows already?" she mused.

His eyes flashed. But he smiled crookedly when he looked back out over the city. "No…but…you know, sometimes you just…wanna  _break."_  His words ended in a little bit of a sigh. Kay frowned a little. But he simply shrugged. "It was…nice to do something else for a change. Tours are always kind of…nerve-wracking," he admitted. "You know, you just have…a lot of  _pressure,_ a lot of  _planning,_ a lot of  _go, go go…_ it's  _fun._ Don't get me wrong; it's fun. Once it  _starts_ , I always… _we_ always start having more fun. But… _leading up to it_ is the part that's kind of a drag. It doesn't make it easier. Neither does the media." He sighed. "It's always…hard. Especially…" He tilted his head to the side. "Especially on Cam," he said, much quieter.

She glanced down at her drink, and then inside. She couldn't catch a glimpse of him, from out here. "He's not…how I thought he would be," she found herself admitting. She wasn't sure what she had expected, but it hadn't been this. He was nice. He was… _normal,_ as bad as it was to say. But he smiled, and he talked…not as much as Jonathan did, but almost. He even had a  _girlfriend._ She couldn't tell very much, because she hadn't known them  _all_ that long. But they seemed really good for each other. They seemed on the same wavelength…always smiling when they caught each other's eye. She'd even noticed a couple of pecks snuck when they thought nobody was looking.

Jonathan's smile was gone. He was staring at her oddly. In a way that made her feel guilty and confused at the same time. "How did you think he would be?"

She realized too late how insensitive the comment was. "I just…meant…" She tried to find her words but eventually, she gave up. "I'm sorry, that was…I didn't mean for it to come out the way it did…"

"No, you're okay," he reassured. "That makes me happy, actually."

She did a tiny double-take. "What does?"

He was smiling now. Almost like he was relieved. "That he's not the way you thought he'd be."

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

"So are you planning on admitting now that you need us?" Jonathan grinned.

Kay shot him a look. They were preparing dinner. They'd just wrapped up another case. It had officially been their fifth, working with the FBI. Some might say they were on a roll. Though it had never been officially said, it was becoming a tradition of theirs to celebrate once a case was done. This had been a smaller one, so they were just making dinner at the archive. It wasn't anything special by any means, but it was nice. Kay found that she was genuinely enjoying herself, here. Like she did every time she was over.

"Need is a very strong word," she returned, after taking a sip of her wine. Jonathan shot her a look, but she just smiled. She shook her head and backtracked. "It  _has_ been a huge help, with you all involved." Even Gunter smiled at this, from where he was standing at the stove. Jordan was with him trying to figure out how they were going to season the chicken (in other words, they were bickering over which spices were best to use). Jonathan and Kay were sitting on the barstools along the counter with Dina. Cameron and Cornelius were putting together a dessert. "We've got a lot to thank you for."

"As long as we're  _thanking people,"_ Dina interjected, "I think I deserve a  _pretty big thank you_ for juggling your guys'  _ridiculous_  crime-solving hobby and your actual  _careers;_ it is by  _no means_ easy!"

Cornelius turned, smirking as her blue eyes lit up with mischief. "Don't pretend you're not just as excited when it comes to the FBI," she teased. Dina was already stiffening and sitting up straighter, holding out a finger to stop her. But she was going on regardless. "Not when you moon over  _Mike_ the entire day!"

" _I do not— I don't— pardon me!"_ Dina blustered, only growing more embarrassed when everyone started to laugh. "I do not… _moon over Mike,_ I don't have  _time to moon over someone,_ and if I  _did_ it  _certainly_ would not be  _Mike!"_  Cornelius said nothing; the smile on her face did it for her. Dina was blushing more and more. "And anyway, I don't even  _know_ what  _moon_ means, that's a  _ridiculous_ term and I refuse to use it, even if I  _did_ like him,  _which I don't._ So don't go  _putting that in my mouth!"_

"We get it Dina." Kay turned when Cameron spoke up, not even turning around. "You're in love."

Dina slammed her hands on the countertop.  _"Oh— you— you're just— all of you!"_ she ended up screaming. Which made no sense, but it was where she was going to leave it. She scowled, like a kid might do if they wanted to buy a toy at the store but their mom said no. Jonathan was laughing a little louder than everyone else, so she took it upon herself to reach over and smack him. He almost toppled out of his chair. Cameron glanced over his shoulder to watch. Kay found herself looking at him thoughtfully. His eyes were lit up with the laugh he was holding back. He wasn't turned around for very long before he was going back.

"So, is it official?" Jonathan asked, catching her attention back. When she turned to him, she fought not to smile in exasperated fondness at how eager he seemed. "Are we working with the FBI now?"

She couldn't hold it back, then. She paused, but then conceded, "I suppose if I come across a case that's particularly twisty, I know who to call." Jonathan lit up. She was quick to correct:  _"But,_ it  _does_ get annoying walking down the street and having you stop for  _selfies_ the entire way."

"That's what Dina's for!" Jonathan defended. "She's been an expert with the disguises when we've needed them." She swelled with pride. "That's about the only thing she does right— that's why we keep her." She scowled at the poke and smacked him again. This time he  _really_ almost fell. He flashed her a cheeky smile when he got back up, to which she just rolled her eyes at. She looked like she was about to say something when her phone started to ring. She glanced at it and rushed away. It was probably something about the tour. It was coming up soon— the calls were getting more and more frequent.

Kay took another drink. It was the last sip before she came up empty. She mulled over it for a moment, but figured she may as well get at least one more glass. She knew from experience she would be here until late. She had the habit of losing track of time, with them. She turned to find the bottle when she realized it wasn't on the counter anymore. Her eyes caught it eventually. It was over by Cameron and Cornelius. Apparently, it floated to whoever needed a refill.

Jonathan was saying something to Gunter about one of the traps they were taking with them on tour. Cornelius was taking a break from the cake for a second to go over and give them her two cents. So Kay turned a bit in her seat and called out to him. "Hey, Cameron?" He kept his back to her. He was pouring the batter into its pan. He must have been very invested— he didn't even stop moving. She hesitated, a little awkward, before she tried again: "Cameron?" Still nothing.

Jonathan's eyes flickered to her, and then to his brother. His hands clenched a little tighter, where they were resting on the table. She glanced at him and was a little taken aback by how worried he looked suddenly. He looked horribly troubled when Cameron didn't react to her call. He seemed so bothered she opened her mouth to try and ask what was wrong. When he called out much louder than her: "Hey,  _Cam!"_ Cameron jerked. He whirled around, looking surprised and confused. His eyes went to Jonathan first, who raised his eyebrows a little. He looked even more bemused. But surprisingly guilty, at the same time.

Jonathan's voice sounded different when he said: "Kay called your name.  _Twice."_

Cameron blinked fast even more. He looked at Kay and offered her a nervous smile. "Sorry, that's— I couldn't hear, I wasn't paying attention."

"It's alright," she said, smiling reluctantly. "I just— was going to ask for a refill."

He looked between her and the bottle before he shook himself. "Oh, yeah! 'Course." He handed it to her, and she took it with a small 'thank-you.' Cameron glanced at Jonathan one more time before he turned back to the cake. Cornelius had gone back to his side, by now. Kay's forehead creased when she saw her give him a sympathetic smile and rub his shoulder. Cameron whispered something to her that he couldn't hear, but Kay did see the tiny shrug she returned. She looked at Jonathan, a little confused. It wasn't that big a deal— he just hadn't heard her.

Whatever she was about to say died on her tongue when she saw that Jonathan was staring at his twin with a stare weighed down heavily with worry. It was almost palpable. She actually felt her  _own_  worry stem from it. But mostly she just found herself feeling an unexpected rush of sorrow and remorse, at the realization that the longer Jonathan stared at his brother, the more haunted his expression seemed to grow.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

"…you just have to be sure there's no way for them to see you— if they see you too soon, then the whole thing is a bust and we will have wasted a  _perfectly_  good Saturday," Cameron sighed, his blue eyes grazing over the map of Central Park. Kay was standing beside him. They were putting the finishing touches on their plan. Gunter and Jordan were building the façade they would have to set up. Dina was working – with  _Mike_ – on figuring out just how they were to block the area off without making it too obvious. Jonathan had gone with Cornelius to get all the 'props' so to speak, they would need. Everyone had their job— Cameron's was apparently to coach her three times over how to  _not_ screw this up for them completely.

She wasn't complaining. "I'm surprised you don't  _already_ consider it a waste," she tried to tease.

He glanced at her. She was trying to figure out whether or not she should try and backpedal, when he cracked a bit of a crooked smile. "Eh. It isn't a  _total_ waste. I get free coffee." She cracked a smile, too. They looked away from each other, a bit of awkwardness shoving between them. Both were very well aware that they'd talked the least— they knew each other the least. It didn't really seem like he ever wanted to talk to her, really. She never wanted to push. So here they were, in uncomfortable silence.

She cleared her throat and gestured to the map, and all the markings and directions he'd stenciled in. "Thank you. For this," she said. "I'll spread the word, I'll make sure it goes off smoothly." He just nodded, accompanying it with a tiny shrug. She wasn't sure about the way he was looking at her— it seemed like he was trying to figure something out. She hesitated, before she asked: "Is there…anything else?" This time he shook his head. That silence was back and by now she was itching to get out of it. So she took in a deep breath and began to roll it up. "Alright, then. Well. If you think of anything, let me know so—"

"You  _know._  Right?" he asked suddenly.

She stopped short, surprised. He was staring at her steadily, as he asked this. Like he didn't even mind it, really. She was quiet for a couple of seconds, wondering whether she should be kind, or truthful. She ended up going with the usual. "Yes. I do." Again, it was sort of impossible  _not_  to know the story. She just hadn't expected him to be so blunt about it. Especially when nothing had been mentioned before now.

"How  _much_ do you know?" She didn't know what to say. He must have realized, because he was doubling back to redefine it. "I mean…everyone pretty much knows the gist." She would have thought he'd at least be trying to joke it off, or laugh a little nervously. But his voice was flat. He was deadpanned, and unaffected. "But…you're in the FBI. I'm sure there's… _files_ or  _records,_ or…something." Again, this was said nonchalantly. Her forehead was slowly creasing. "Have you read those? Looked at them?"

"I— …no, of course not," she stuttered eventually. He straightened a little, like he was surprised. "I haven't…that would be…that would feel wrong. Like an invasion of privacy." She shook her head. "If you want to tell me anything, that's up to you. It's in the past…not that it doesn't matter, now," she rushed to add. "But…it should be left in the past, if that's what you want." His eyebrows rose. Still, he was studying her like she was a math problem, more than an actual person. She could see his gears turning, she just didn't know  _why._ "I haven't looked at anything, though, Cameron." His eyes flashed. "I promise."

He weighed her answer for a few heartbeats. "And…what do you think?"

That was an odd one, too. And again, it was asked so strangely. She took more time to think of her reply, this time. The silence was deafening. "I…think it was horrible. That you had to go through all of that, at such a young age," she murmured eventually. "I can't even…imagine what it would be like."

"But what do you think of me  _now?"_ he pressed.

This, she found, was much easier to answer. "I'm glad," she stated. Cameron perked, his eyes flashing again. "I'm glad you came so far, from where you were. I'm glad you have a career that you love…and that…you don't let your past define you. I'm glad you've made your own future." This seemed to strike a nerve with him. He looked down at the table, his hand clenching into a fist, there. "I don't judge you for anything, Cameron. And I never will," she vowed. "You're a brilliant person…and I like to think you're a good friend, by now, too." He looked back up at her and she smiled. "That's all I care about, really."

He seemed thoughtful, more than anything else. He just nodded, looking distracted. Kay lingered, not sure whether or not she should take her leave. He jerked realizing his silence. He smiled and offered a sincere: "Thank you. Kay. That…I've just been wondering. That means a lot…to hear."

She smiled back. "You're welcome, Cameron."

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

"You  _sure_ you don't wanna come?" Jonathan demanded.

Kay smiled indulgently. "As much as I would  _love_ to follow you around and watch you perform the same show over and over again…I have  _actual work_ I need to do, here." Jonathan waved his hands and mumbled: 'Ooooh.' She tried not to laugh too much— it would just encourage him. "You go, I'll stay here and hold down the fort." She added with a sparkle in her eyes: "Doing an  _actual_ service to society."

"What— is providing entertainment to millions of people across America  _not_  service enough for you? You're a hard woman to please. I'll have to remember that." She shot him a smirk. They were sitting together at the table; both of them were drinking coffee. They'd finished their last case before the Deception team finally had to leave for their tour. They were cutting it close— they left the next day, at five in the morning. It was just about eleven at night, now. But Jonathan had assured Kay it would be alright— he wanted to see this case to the end before they shoved off.

She smiled when she took another drink. "Is everyone ready, then?"

"More or less. Dina's gonna scramble for last-minute things in the morning like she always does," he sighed. "Jordan's going to  _sleep_ until the last minute, and that's only because Gunter will finally tear it and just drag him out to the car by his arms." She laughed. "Cornelius will be the only one  _ready,_ I'm betting…she's always the only one in the group that knows what they're doing." He paused, his expression flickering just a little. He glanced at her and took in a slow breath. "Cameron's…prepping himself for it…he's not…much of a people person." He smiled just a little when he said this.

Kay wasn't sure whether she should smile back. "And you?" she just prompted.

"Oh, me?" He sat back more in his chair with a little sigh. "I'll probably just stay up."

She frowned. "All night?"

"Well, it's late already. What's the point of sleeping for a couple hours, just to get up again?"

"A couple hours is better than none at all," she reasoned.

"I don't sleep well in general," he dismissed. "This wouldn't be the first night I haven't slept. I'm basically an expert, at this point." She was staring at him with doubt in her eyes. He offered her a smile. "Trust me. If I just went to bed I'd be tossing and turning. I'd be too busy… _thinking."_

She took another drink. She settled on her elbows. "About what?"

They hadn't worked  _too_  many cases together, but they were already closer. She started  _out_ wanting little to do with him at all. Little by little – as he'd promised her – she'd warmed up. She asked him for help with other cases. She'd come over to the archive the other night just for dinner— there wasn't even a case attached. He'd texted her a funny picture last week and she had replied with a 'lol' instead of just ignoring him. They were baby steps. The fact she was asking about this now was just a bigger testament to the fact.

But he didn't answer. He just smiled, and that was it.

She accepted the refusal without bitterness. She just dipped her head in a tiny nod.

The two of them sat in silence for a while. It was surprisingly comfortable.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

 _When are you coming back?_ she texted.

He'd replied hours later.  **We have two more weeks.** Then, right after that:  **Why?**

_We have a case here we might need you for. It's confusing._

**Confusing is my specialty.**

_I know, that's why I find you so annoying._ She'd smiled as she pressed send.

He didn't reply. She thought he wouldn't. Until, another three hours later:  **Send pics.** _Very_ quickly – and very unnecessarily – he'd added:  **Of the case. Details.**

_Right. Thanks for clearing that up. But I don't think you can help just from a phone._

**You doubt me too much. You never know.** Another message:  **We could FaceTime.**

_Do you have time to do that?_

**I can make time for you.** She wasn't sure why this made her smile. Her smile dropped, though, when he added:  **Plus, I just know you miss seeing me, so it's a win-win for you.**

_Please. This has been the best two months of my life._

**You know, I've heard absence makes the heart grow fonder.**

_Clearly whoever coined the phrase wasn't talking about you._

**You wound me.**

_You'll get used to it._

**You say that as if I'm not already.** A couple minutes, before:  **So FaceTime? Tomorrow?**

She hesitated. Before she smiled a little and replied:  _Yeah. Call me whenever. I'll answer._

She smiled even more when he replied:  **Sounds like a plan, partner.**

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

The phone almost wasn't picked up. On the last ring, Jonathan answered. "…Hello?"

"Hey!" Kay glanced over her shoulder, back towards the crime scene. "Are you coming?"

There was murmuring in the background. "Uh, Kay, I…I don't…think we'll make it. Today."

"Are you busy with a show?" she asked. "You just got  _back,_ I thought."

"N-…no." There was more murmuring. "We just…" He lowered his voice a little. "I'm sorry, Kay, but…Cameron…isn't having a good day." The words were heavy. She frowned, certainly having not prepared herself for that excuse. In the back of her mind, she remembered the look Jonathan had fixed his brother with when he thought he wasn't looking. She'd assumed it was just lingering from their childhood. Now, it seemed like it wasn't. "The tour— took a lot out of him, and— it's just not a good day. He needs…time."

"Oh," she murmured, after gathering herself. "I'm sorry to hear that…"

"Don't be— I mean—" More hissing. Jonathan's voice was a little more strained when it was cut off. "It just happens sometimes. But…but, I— I can't go out there…I wanna…stay with him— it's always…easier on him…if I'm here. I hope…that's not a problem."

"No!" she rushed. "No, no, of course not. I understand." She ducked her head, to study the ground. "We can handle this one without you," she relented. "Tell Cameron I'm sorry…" She paused before she found herself suddenly offering: "I could…come by later, if that might help?" More murmuring. "If— it might be— presumptuous of me; if it's not okay you can just say so…but…if there was any way I could help…?" She didn't like hearing Jonathan so at a loss.

But he didn't sound any better when he answered. "Uh— no. That's—  _no._  Don't come." He said this a little too quickly. "Thank you. For offering. It's just—" Another whisper. "It just goes by easier when we just…take the day. So. I can— talk to you tomorrow, hopefully— well, I don't know." It didn't sound like him at all. "I'll text you. If nothing else, I just— I'm sorry. We just can't do it today," he finally shoved out.

"Okay…that's okay, Jonathan. It's no problem."

"Okay." This came out very curt.

Kay hesitated before she offered weakly: "I'm sorry, Jonathan. That you have to deal with this." And she meant it. They both deserved to be happy, without this burden shadowing them. Here they were, years later, and they were still having to deal with the mess their father had forced them into. Her heart pained at the thought of Cameron spiraling. She knew the team would be there for him, and make it as easy for him as possible, but the thought was still painful. And for some reason, it was even more painful to know that Jonathan would be faithfully at his side the entire time, still taking care of him when he needed him to.

Jonathan was silent for what felt like ages. Before he offered a tiny: "It's ok. It's not your fault."

"It's not your fault, either, Jonathan. You,  _or_  Cameron's."

This time the silence was even longer. "…Yeah," he eventually rasped.

She brought the phone closer to her ear. "Bye, Jonathan…tell me how it goes…"

"…Yeah. Bye."

Then he hung up. Leaving her with a silence that was even more crushing.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

"You'd better not let anyone find out you're reading that." The voice was quiet. But there was just the smallest bit of reproach to it. They knew exactly what she was doing, and it was clear they weren't too happy. She looked up with a little bit of guilt. Mike was standing in the doorway; his stare was heavy. She waited for him to say something else— to call her out for what they both knew was wrong. But he didn't. He just stared at her levelly, and warningly. He wasn't even asking for an explanation.

She gave him one anyway. "It's for a case." They both knew this was a lie.

"I'm just saying," he offered after a pause. "It should…" He hesitated. Before he tilted his head to the side and said softly: "It should come from  _them,_  Kay. Not a file."

"I know." Her voice was hardly there. She looked back down at the case file on her desk. When the silence reigned on and she risked a glance up again, she was relieved to see he'd left. She was still for a second more, before she went to close the door again. She sat back at her desk and looked back at the folder, and all the information it contained. She hadn't even read it yet, but her stomach was already churning. Not because she was anxious to read what all was there…she  _knew_ what was there. It was just that she hadn't read it all before actually knowing the faces behind the names in these reports.

'June 5th, 1999, 7:08 GMT.

An anonymous call was placed concerning a traveling magician father-son duo currently staying in Reykjavik. The caller did not give their name, but they said they were a close friend of the son. The caller told police there was actually another son— a twin, kept secret for tricks. They also told police that one of the twins had been forced by their father, Sebastian Black, into prostitution for the past three years. Officer Magnússon and I responded to the call. Upon arrival, Sebastian Black attempted to deny us entrance, claiming he only had one son and he had made up the story for attention.

We entered regardless and while Magnússon stayed with Sebastian, I went upstairs and found Jonathan Black hiding in his room. He appeared frightened. I reached out for him and he flinched like he was scared of getting hurt. I reassured him he was safe and eventually got him to come with me. He had a bag already packed. When we went downstairs, his father tried to get him to come over so he could talk to him, but Jonathan wouldn't even look in his direction. We removed him from the home and once we did, he confirmed the story: that he had been kept a secret his entire life. He said for three years – since he and his brother were nine – his brother Cameron Black had been forced to stay nights with adults and had since then been introduced and then addicted to heroin. Formal written-out testimony is attached. Sebastian denied these claims as he was taken into custody.

Jonathan had fifteen bruises, along his arms and his legs and his sides. He had four abrasions, above his right eye, on his left cheek, and two on each palm. He was malnourished and dehydrated. We stopped to get him food; he ate every bite. He was given to a foster family at 10:34 pm GMT. At the time, Cameron's whereabouts were unknown, and Sebastian was still refusing to respond to police questioning.'

The next few papers were all a script of the questioning that had taken place.

'Officer Einarsson: We  _already_ know. Just  _admit_ it to us.

Sebastian Black: There's nothing to admit. My son is always trying to get attention—

Einarsson: Okay, you can just drop the act. We saw the bruises on Jonathan, we  _found_ the drugs in your room. You want to pretend you have no idea what we're talking about? When there are  _two beds_ in the room where we found Jonathan? Two  _small_ beds? Give it up, Black— tell us where Cameron is. This whole thing is going to end badly for you regardless,  _don't_ make this kid suffer any more than you already have.

Black: There's nothing to tell. I only have one son. Cameron.

Einarsson: You're really going to make that poor kid suffer even more? When we know he's out there when we know he's being hurt— you're still going to make it worse for him?'

She couldn't read any more of it. She flipped through, searching for the next document.

'June 13th, 1999, 11:26 GMT.

Cameron Black was found after a call was placed from a luxury rental villa in Garðabær, Iceland. Despite his father's arrest, he had been missing since his birthday, June 5th. Officers Jefferson, Pálsson, Thorarensen, Briem, Olsen, Diego, and I were dispatched. We knocked repeatedly and announced ourselves, however, the renter refused to open the door. Officer Olsen was forced to break it down. The renter, Stefan Sturluson, showed as aggressive and hostile; he was yelling for us to leave. He started to advance, not responding to our warnings or explanations. Jefferson and Briem were just beginning to restrain him when a young girl suddenly ran down the steps, yelling that Cameron was upstairs and hurt.

Jefferson and Briem stayed with Stefan while myself and the others ran after the girl. We got into the master, to see Jonathan Black was already there. He was on the bed, holding Cameron, who was unconscious. Jonathan was distraught and in shock. He was crying and screaming, and he only did so more when Olsen had to rip him away from his brother. Emergency Medical Services arrived, and Olsen held Jonathan back as they evaluated Cameron and started to load him into the ambulance.'

She skipped the rest of it. She searched for the medical report, instead.

'Cameron Black, age 12, rushed to the ER suffering wounds from extensive and prolonged sexual assault. H/O heroin use. Presented with BP 95/43, extreme malnourishment and dehydration, respirations shallow and labored at 32 per min. O2 saturation at 82%. Lacerations around wrists and ankles showing signs of infection, culture collected for identification. Three broken ribs on pt's right side, left wrist sprained. Stage two pressure ulcer on sacrum, extensive bruising to hips and face.'

It hurt, and she felt horrible. But she couldn't stop.

She read the entire thing.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

She was browsing twitter when she saw it.

'Cameron and Jonathan Black visit Cohen Children's Medical Center.'

She was already beginning to smile before she clicked the tag, but the second she did, the smile was growing. What followed were dozens of pictures and hashtags and tweets— some were praising the duo for what they saw the act as: a purposeful show of the fact there was the opportunity for life after horrible things, going to cheer up disheartened little kids like they had wished someone would have done for them. Others were just screaming about how cute they looked with babies. Both were pretty valid.

There were so many pictures. There was a photo of them standing at the bedside of a child with a broken leg. Cameron was grinning and reaching out— the little boy was stretching to give him a high-five. Another one and Cameron was talking to another little boy, smiling wide at whatever they were saying. There was a photo of Jonathan holding a toddler's hand and walking down the hall— they both wearing masks over their mouths. She caught a photo with Dina and Jordan in the background, and in another one she could see a glimpse of Cornelius watching Cameron with a look that was softened with love.

She realized there was a video— she pressed play. She was… _pretty_ sure it was Jonathan – she was so guilty but sometimes she felt like it was impossible to tell which one was which – sitting on another hospital bed. This time it was a little girl, probably four or five. He'd pulled the tray table over her bed. A deck of cards was resting there; by the time the video started, he was in the middle of bringing up a card. "Is this your card?" he asked, already grinning.

Her response was immediate— she was shrieking and clapping, bouncing as she reached for it. A woman she could only assume was the girl's mother was standing close beside her. She was beaming, watching Jonathan interact with her. Every so often she was wiping her nose and sniffing, with a watery smile. Jonathan was reaching to take the cards back, but immediately the little girl was squeaking: "No!" He stopped short, looking at her with a little bit of surprise.  _She_ was reaching for the cards. "Me do!"

Jonathan laughed, making a show of leaning back. "You're right— you're right, I'm sorry."

She scooted the deck close to him. It started to go a little lopsided. "Pick one!" she demanded.

Kay giggled as she watched him make a dramatic show of thinking, before he just picked the top one. It was the ace of hearts. He put it back. He was probably just expecting her to pick it right back up, which was what Kay was expecting her to do, too. But instead, she picked up the deck and tried to shuffle it— Kay guessed she was just trying to do what Jonathan had done for her. But she wasn't nearly as coordinated. His eyes widened when the cards went absolutely all over the table. The girl dropped her hands, just staring at the mess. Her mom moved like she was going to try and fix it somehow.

When, instead, the little girl just grabbed a random card and showed it to him. "This your card?"

It was definitely not. It was the eight of clubs.

But of course, Jonathan's eyes were flying wide and he was jerking back like he was winded.  _"Woah!"_ he cried. The girl's face split into a huge beam.  _"Wow,_ it  _is!_ How did you do that!?". Kay found herself grinning affectionately. "You're an  _amazing_ little magician, look at you!" He leaned a little closer to stage-whisper: "Maybe I should tell my brother you've gotta come along with us on our next tour! We could use you!" She fell into another burst of giggles. That was when the video cut off.

Kay's expression stayed soft. She kept scrolling through the tag, getting distracted. There was nothing but an outpour of love, for the duo. There were people bringing up the past— talking more about what had happened back then, now that the spotlight was back on them for a moment. But most everyone else was just praising them, putting out their love for them, their admiration, talking about how they were the best celebrities, using their platform for the good of other people and never taking advantage of where they were or forgetting where they'd come from.

Other people were bringing up past hospital visits— apparently, this was something they did frequently. They'd visited tons of other hospitals, not just in New York. There were pictures of them smiling with kids, of doing tricks and playing board games and card games. There was another article that showed they'd apparently just showed up uninvited to a charity event for preventing child abuse. They had donated millions of dollars to charities like Preventing Child Abuse America, and Childhelp. They'd shown up at schools, and orphanages around the world. They had put on free shows for kids. She hadn't realized how far their influence spread.

That smile was staying on her face. She hesitated over it for a couple of seconds…before she closed Twitter and opened her messages instead. She texted Jonathan.

_I saw you on Twitter._

To her surprise, he actually answered immediately.  **Was it because of my streaking? Again?**

She snorted and rolled her eyes.  _No, it was your visit to the hospital. You were close, though._

 **Oh, good. That means I wasn't caught this time.** She snorted again.  **Yeah, that was fun.**

_So, Cameron is doing better?_

**Yeah. He's a lot better. They usually only last a day anyway. Nothing new.**

She didn't say anything back at first, so he texted her again.  **I'm sorry again about that. I hope it wasn't a problem…**

 _No, of course not! We can't expect you to drop everything every time we ask for your help. It's okay._ She sent this one and then sent a separate one.  _I'm glad to hear he's okay. I was worried about both of you._ The instant she sent this she was regretting it.  _Sorry, I hope that isn't weird. Or overstepping._

**No, it's okay! We're both fine :)**

_What are you doing tomorrow?_

**We have to make an appearance somewhere else.**

_Oh._

**Why?**

_I was just going to invite you to come with me. We have a very deception-y case._

**Ah, so I've succeeded in making deception an adjective? Excellent.**  She laughed.  **No, sorry, tomorrow is booked.** She barely had time to feel disappointed, though, before he was texting again.  **But I'm not doing anything tonight. If you wanna get my opinion on something. Or something.**

 _Or something?_ She smirked.  _Calm down, Johnny._

 **Excuse you, 'or something' could mean plenty of things. Like going to pet a pig. That's something. We could go watch paint dry.** She snorted, but he wasn't done.  **We could watch grass grow, that's also something. We could do our taxes. We could go to the suburbs and pretend we live there and yell at kids to get off our lawn. Or, lawns. We will pretend to have separate lawns of course, because you are not allowed in my home.**

_Are you gonna come, or no?_

**You don't even acknowledge me. This is a toxic relationship.**

_I'm giving you five more seconds to decide before I leave the office._

**Okay, yes, I'm coming.**

_Well hurry up, you wasted time being weird._

**You are so nice to me, it's amazing.**

It didn't take him very long. His hair was damp, thanks to the fact it was raining, but he had what looked like Chinese take-out. He was closing the door with his foot when he turned around and grinned. "Sorry— I haven't eaten anything in forever, I hope that's okay." She nodded, and once the door was shut he walked over to set up all the food nicely. Which was offset when, starting to dig in, he sat on the corner of her desk. She eyed him, but he just grinned, knowing she wasn't really put off.  _"So,"_ Jonathan mused, leaning over a little to look at what she had on her desk. "Lay it on me— what's this case about?"

She told him all about it— about what she'd been scratching her head over probably all day. After all, how does a car just vanish into thin air? He had a couple ideas, and he wrote them out while they brainstormed together. They talked about clues and leads, but there wasn't really anything they could do at nine pm. They decided Kay would just have to take it from there. Plus, she was aware that Jonathan looked exhausted…like he hadn't slept in ages. She felt bad for stealing this night from him. They'd just finished the tour, and then something had come up with Cameron, and  _then_ they'd had to jump right into their appearance at the hospital. They'd been working nonstop.

Yet even when they stopped working on the case, Jonathan stayed. He stayed sitting on her desk; she was sitting in front of him in her chair. She found she didn't really mind all that much. "So your tour went well?" she asked. "I heard good things."

"Why Kay Daniels, were you looking up  _reviews?"_ he mused.

"Of course not," she snapped. "I just saw it on Twitter. Like the hospital stuff."

He kept his grin. "Yeah, it went really well. Nothing too bad came up— Jordan set his hair on fire one night…so like I said, nothing too bad…" She laughed, and he smiled wider. "It was nice.  _Long…_ I don't want to do another long one like that for a while…but it was good. I think Dina has been thinking of doing another show in Times Square again, so at least the next show we won't be traveling. That's always a big hassle…" He sighed again and tilted his head. "Yeah, it was good. Fun," he said simply. "Just glad it's over."

"Glad to be home?" she mused.

" _Yes. Hate_ being away from home," he grumbled.

She hesitated, studying her hands. Before she cleared her throat and asked: "So…if you don't…mind me asking…what was wrong with Cameron the other day?" Jonathan's eyes flashed. She already felt guilty for pressing. But she kept on. "I just…you seemed really upset, on the phone. And…I would hate for Cameron to be…you know?" Now  _he_  was looking down. The expression he wore was a little troubled. "I'm sorry. If I'm…talking about it too much, I just…I was just a little concerned. For you two."

He was quiet for a long time. She was just starting to apologize when he spoke up. "No, it's okay…he…he was fine." He was fidgeting a little with his hands. "There are just…you know, sometimes he can go a really long time without…but…sometimes something… _sets him off,_ sometimes it's for no reason at all. I figured…it'd happen after the tour…it usually does. But…no, it's just— some days he just…has to take for himself. The team…we try and help. But it's usually just a…get through it kind of thing, you know?"

"It happens often?" she murmured.

"Not…as often…as you'd think…" His forehead creased. "It's just…a lot. Sometimes," he practically whispered. Kay's face was falling, at the tone of his voice. At how tired he looked. At how run-down. She could see him not being able to sleep, too worried for his brother. And maybe that was why he wasn't keen on ending the night, now. She was just surprised he'd left him, to come here.

"He looked good. In the videos I saw," she offered.

He nodded. "Yeah…yeah, he looked…better…"

She tilted her head to the side and asked before she could stop herself: "Are  _you_ okay, Jonathan?"

He jerked as if he was surprised she was thinking of him. When their eyes met she didn't look away. She stayed soft, and just a little worried. Just enough to show that she truly did care. He was silent for a while, his mouth halfway open like he wanted to say something, he was just too worried about how he was going to say it. Eventually, he found it. His voice was just a murmur, though. Even though they were in the same room, she had to strain a little to hear it. "I lied…"

She frowned. "Lied about what?"

He was silent, still just staring at her. Before he looked down and took in a very sharp breath, shaking his head. "We're not making an appearance tomorrow," he blurted out. Her frown worsened. He looked more off to the side. "Our parents are actually…coming to visit. I…called them about...Cam, so they wanted to just…come up and see him. We said they could stay a few days…they can't get enough of the city as it is. Not to actually  _live_ here, but…" He sighed when he turned back. "We're not going anywhere, they're just…being annoying," he offered with a weak laugh.

Her frown was starting to ease back into a smile. "Your parents?"

"Yup…they're really embarrassing." He laughed before declaring: "We love 'em."

She laughed a little, too. For a second it was very quiet. But eventually, the tug in her gut was enough to compel her. She cleared her throat and glanced at him tensely. "Jonathan?" He looked at her, his eyes flashing again. She was sure that her apprehension was written all over her face. "I…I hope you don't mind…I…just have a question…"

He smiled. It was wary and tired. "Only one?" he murmured. "Usually people have fifty."

"Why…keep his name?"

Jonathan took in a slow breath, and let it out just as gradually. "It was just…easier…I guess." He was choosing his words carefully. "When we were younger, we had their last name. Or—  _Icelandic_  last names are kind of different. Which is— that's where they're from, so we did that. There's no family name, you just…take the name of your dad and add a suffix. So…well, for a while…Cameron really…I guess  _couldn't_ admit that they were our parents. That they were  _always_ our parents, you know, from the— from the get-go." If she didn't know him any better, she would have thought his voice was getting a tiny bit choked. "So it took a while for…him to  _know_ for sure.

"They waited, though. The entire time; they didn't care how long it took." He smiled affection and gratitude alike mingling on his face. "Eventually he did, though, and that was when they adopted us. So we took Oliver's name— we were Cameron and Jonathan Oliverson. And that was perfectly fine by both of us. But…" He trailed off and was quiet for a few heartbeats. His forehead creased the more he tried. "But when we decided that we were gonna try and get back into magic…I mean…the name was already  _there._ You know?" She hesitated but nodded. He shrugged. "The name was already known…I mean…there's a lot of bad connected to it, now. But…using  _his_ name was an instant…kind of  _boost_.

"It's just a stage name." His voice was lighter when: "He might as well do  _one_ thing for us, right?"

She tried to smile back, but it was harder.

His smile faded. "I'm guessing you have more than just that one."

"You don't have to tell me anything," she returned.

He shrugged one shoulder. "I know. I just…don't mind. If you do. I like talking to you."

A smile pulled at her lips. She looked away, like she was trying to hide it.

She was pretty sure he noticed anyway.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Cornelius texted her around noon.  **You should come over after work.**

_How come?_

**You just should.**

Kay didn't have any other plans, and she would be lying if she said the prospect of going over to the archive made her significantly less worn down with the day. It passed by quicker, with something to look forward to, and once she got off work, she headed there. She didn't really wonder why Cornelius had invited her and not Jonathan. She didn't think of what day it was, or what Jonathan had told her. If she had, she might have had a better idea. So she didn't realize her mistake until she opened the door.

She expected to see someone from the team answer. So she did a double-take when she found herself face-to-face with someone she'd never seen before. She was older, with light blonde hair. Her blue eyes were lit up with surprise. "Oh! Hi!" She looked her up and down, curiosity building. "Who are you?"

Before Kay could say anything, Cornelius showed up from behind her. She was smirking. Understanding was already dawning over Kay even before she said anything. "Emma, this is Kay!" Immediately, Emma's eyes were getting about ten times bigger. Kay had never seen someone smile so big, so fast. "Kay, this is Emma! You've got  _no_ idea how much she's been asking about you!"

Kay's smile turned a little awkward. She looked at Emma and opened her mouth to at least offer a hello. The second she started, though, Emma's head whipped around and she practically  _screamed: "Oliver!"_ Kay jumped out of her skin. Another new face rushed to cram itself into the door. He was tall, with brown hair that was beginning to gray over. Which was a little surprising, given he didn't look  _that_ old. He had green eyes behind black-rimmed glasses. Thanks to Emma's screech, he seemed alarmed. But she already answered his question when she announced:  _"That's_ Kay!"

His eyebrows rose.  _"That's_ Kay?" he echoed. He looked at her and asked:  _"You're_ Kay?"

"I'm Kay," she assured, laughing nervously. "It's nice to meet you."

Cornelius intervened to grab her wrist and urge her inside. Jonathan and Cameron were rushing over. Jonathan looked more than irritated. Cameron was trying to hide a smile. Seeing this was a relief, to Kay— to see that he looked much happier. The visit from their parents must have helped him worlds. Emma rushed after Kay, her smile still refusing to leave. "I'm sorry— I always get so excited to meet another member of the—" She frowned, looking at Jonathan. "What do you call it?" He didn't answer; he was looking at Kay with a bland deadpan that said, 'I am so sorry.' Kay had to stifle a laugh when Emma gently smacked his shoulder. "What do you  _call_ it?" He still didn't look at her and she huffed, narrowing her eyes before she looked back at Kay and lit up again. "Another member of the team!" she settled for. "Another member of the family!"

Kay laughed again. "I'm not sure I'm officially part of the team…" she objected.

To her surprise, Cameron was the one to reply. "Of course you are." She looked at him, and he smiled at her. She was well aware of the fact that her chest warmed with affection at the thought.

Dina was coming in with wine. She perked and exclaimed, "Kay! I didn't know you were coming!"

"I told her she should," Cornelius chirped. She walked over to Cameron and intertwined their fingers. He planted a kiss on her cheek as she said, "Emma was asking so much about the FBI job and once she heard Jonathan had a  _partner…"_ She ended very suggestively, with a playful wink that made Kay shoot her a glare. But it was nothing compared to the glare Jonathan shot her. "She was going to go crazy if she didn't meet her, and you know Jonathan wasn't gonna make the call."

"For good reason," Jonathan grumbled.

Emma shot him a look and smacked his shoulder again, just as gently. "You're the  _worst_  son."

"I'm  _well_ aware of the fact. I wear my title with pride."

She smacked him again, and this time Jonathan cracked a smile. Emma didn't even try to hide the beam that spread across her face, though, and the affection that softened her expression, too. "Stay!" she urged. "Come in! Sit down! I want to hear all about you!" She was already grabbing Kay's hand and tugging her in. "I want to hear all about your cases! You're so impressive, working in the FBI, I could never do it! How did you meet him? Do you have cases now? Do you tell him not to work so much? He works  _all the time,_ they  _both_ do, we're lucky if they call…!"

Kay listened to her talk a mile a minute, a little overwhelmed. She glanced at Jonathan as she passed him. He shot her an apologetic look, mouthing: 'Sorry…'

But she just smiled, and laughed again. And let Emma lead her to the couch.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

" _Thank you,"_ Jonathan breathed, practically falling through the door.

She raised her eyebrows, smirking a little. "That bad, huh?"

"You have no idea," he huffed. She closed the door after him. He was already straightening, looking around her apartment with immediate curiosity. He'd never been over at  _her_ place, before. It was certainly a change. But he was quick to go back to the topic at hand. "Emma got out the old vacation photos to Disney— that always gets her off on a three-hour tangent, I had to get out of there." Kay laughed. But he just looked at her and asked, very seriously: "Can I live here, now?"

"How long are they staying?"

"I dunno. Honestly, we haven't talked about it. They're always welcome, so…" He smiled, as he pulled out a seat at Kay's table and sat down with a sigh. She automatically went to take the seat across from him. "Nah…I complain, and I  _do_ need a break…but they're great. Emma's cleaned the entire archive  _twice now,_ I'm pretty sure."

Kay smiled. "She was very nice when I was there. They both were."

He softened. "Yeah. They're the best."

"It's sweet that they would make the trip, for Cameron."

Jonathan looked at the table, nodding a little. He cracked a smirk when he teased: "It starts out sweet until Emma starts bugging him about proposing to Cornelius. For the  _millionth_ time."

"How long have they been dating?"

"Oh, geez…" He blew out a sigh. "Well, they've been  _officially_ dating for about…I think it's five or six years, now. But they've  _practically_  been dating for like, twelve. They've always been super close. I mean— we're  _all_ close, but they've always been…more so." He gestured vaguely. "We've known each other since we were eleven, she was— she was actually the one that finally…called the police. About. Everything." Kay's smile was fading, just like his was. "So…she's a good friend. We've been through a lot together."

"I can imagine…" There was a pause before she asked: "How come he hasn't, yet?"

"Oh…I'm not sure. They don't need a paper or anything to tell them they're in love."

"Oh. Well, that's good. As long as he's happy. They really do seem like a good fit for each other."

"They are," he assured. "They've always been perfect. They just don't make Emma happy," he snickered. "She wants grandkids."

"Does she?"

" _Yes. But._  Cameron doesn't want kids at all. He's awfully dead set with that opinion."

Kay wilted. Without thinking, she murmured: "It makes sense…"

Jonathan glanced at her. He looked away. Mumbled a shorter: "Yeah."

"Sorry, was that—?"

"It's…" He hesitated. Before he took in a deep breath. "I'm sorry it...it just…it drives me  _crazy."_ This was grumbled, more under his breath. She weakened, and he must have noticed. "No, it's not— it's not  _you._ You're honestly  _much_ better than eighty percent of the people we meet. It's just…that's the first thing everyone thinks of." Her face fell, as she watched his expression cloud with sorrow and anger. He was staring at the table, tracing his finger over it absently. " _Plenty_ of people don't want kids. Not everyone  _wants_ kids. Other people, you say that and they just say 'Okay.' But with  _Cameron Black,_ everyone figures he doesn't want kids because of what Dad did.  _That's_ what they think. Almost twenty years later, and  _still_ …it's always just always  _there._ Even when it  _isn't._ Does that even make sense?"

"No, it does. I'm sorry, I didn't…I shouldn't have assumed—"

"But people  _do_. And it's just… _the way it is._ And to be fair to you, you don't do it a lot. It's just…a fact that everyone has it in the back of their mind." He rubbed his forehead, suddenly looking very tired. "Interviewers and reporters hardly  _ever_ ask, but you can see it in the way they look at you that they  _want_ to. Trashy magazines write articles about how Cameron Black was seen coming out of a bar so he  _must have been_ drinking away his problems, even though we were  _all_  there with him, and he only had two drinks. One of which was  _water._

"People just… _see_ what they wanna see, they don't pay attention to or think about anything else. Cameron might just  _not_ want kids because he thinks they're annoying. Not  _everything_ has to come from that. Not  _everything_ has to make its way back to  _that._ But people connect the dots anyway, even if they're not there. It's the worst thing that ever happened to us…and it's impossible to get away from it because everyone else refuses to let it go. People just… _make him_ what  _happened to him._ That's all they see, that's all they think about, and it just…" He ducked his head, sighing. "I'm sorry…it just…"

"No, Jonathan, you're right— I shouldn't have just thought—"

"No, it's— fine. It wasn't at you, you're not— it was at everyone else. Every _thing_ else. It wasn't fair of me to just…dump that all on you. I'm sorry."

She was silent for a couple of seconds, staring at him with a pained frown. He wasn't looking at her. She could practically see him regretting coming here— mentally kicking himself for this. But she wasn't bothered at all. "It's okay…you can dump more, if you want…" He looked at her, something in his expression changing. She smiled sympathetically. "If you want someone to talk to…I can't imagine what it's like. For you  _or_ him. Is it…just as bad? Now?" she asked after a hesitation.

He looked thoughtful, as he stared at her. He didn't even blink. He couldn't have been quiet for more than five or six seconds, but it felt like longer. Until eventually his eyes went back down to the table and he started to speak, his voice low, like he was worried someone else might hear. "When we were fourteen…I was invited to a sleepover." She frowned, a little confused. But she just clasped her hands a little tighter in her lap, listening. "Just me.  _Cameron_  wasn't." His voice was suddenly hollow and worn. "But…I didn't wanna go without him. I always worked to make sure he never felt left out. And Mom agreed…so we just… _brought_ him along too, sleeping bag and everything, without even asking the parents.

"You can imagine how pissed they were." Kay's heart tore. "Everyone saw Cameron as a walking  _disease_. Someone you shouldn't let your kids play with, because God forbid they turn out like him." Jonathan was staring off into space now like he was looking at something she couldn't see. "They tried to get Emma to take him home…she yelled at them and guilt-tripped them – away from everyone else – until they eventually just gave up. They  _tolerated_ him." The word dripped with anger and resentment.

"I was by him the entire time. Watching. So I noticed when the other kids made it a kind of game to see who could make him jump the most. I noticed when they would refuse to touch anything after he touched it…like he had the plague and they were just exercising precaution. I noticed when the kids crammed their sleeping bags together so they could sleep apart from him. He noticed all of it, too. But he was… _trying_  to focus on the  _other_ side of it. He was finally with kids his age. Nobody really wanted to  _involve_  him, but he could watch from the sidelines and pretend. It was so little…but  _man,_ was he over the moon…

"Until the next day. After we got home." His eyes were darkening, now. "Someone called. It was a mom of one of the kids at the party. To this day, I have no idea who it was. Yelling about how her son came home and said Cameron tried to  _'do stuff'_ to them…as they so eloquently put." Kay's stomach dropped. "Complete  _bullshit_ , of course, I was with him all night, and that's  _separate_  from the fact that Cameron would never hurt a fly,  _much_ less hurt someone the way he was hurt over and over again. But  _this_ kid said otherwise. And people just…have those  _blinders_  on! They don't use logic. They don't think 'Hey, maybe it could be something else.' They just see… _that._ And they said what you said…'Makes sense to me.'

"It was a nightmare. Everyone at school was talking about it. Cameron…he got it in his head that maybe he  _did_  do something wrong, maybe he  _didn't_ know what was right and what was wrong. He started falling apart, even though I told him a million times I was with him all night and he didn't do anything. People made fun of him, more. People wanted even  _less_ to do with him, if that was even  _possible_. He was beaten up…sent to the principal's office to try and explain a situation that hadn't even happened. But the  _final_ straw, was when he opened his locker one day…and  _tons_ of condoms just…spilled out all over the place.

"There were so many, they made a pile on the floor. Everyone was laughing their heads off…Cameron started to try and run away and he slipped and fell into them, so it made them laugh even more." Kay noticed Jonathan's eyes were glazed with a little bit of water. Her own were stinging, with anger and sorrow alike. "That was the final straw," he repeated. "He went home and he was completely shut down. Wouldn't talk to anyone. Wouldn't come out of his room…"

He was quiet for another long gap. When he spoke next, his voice was just a rasp. "I woke up at three in the morning and went to find the bathroom door locked. I knocked…but he didn't answer. I woke Oliver up…he tried bargaining his way to get him to open it…but after five minutes we  _knew_ what was happening. We just  _knew_. And we should have seen it coming. We  _really_  should have." He was back to studying the table. "Oliver broke the door down. There Cameron was…bleeding out on the bathroom floor."

His voice was getting more and more choked the longer he went on. "He wrote a…note, you know, like people do. It was to all of us…but mostly to me. He said…he was sorry for always needing me…and that this way, I could have a better life because I wouldn't be worrying about him anymore. He said there was no point in living…if nobody was going to  _let_ him. That no matter where he went or what he did, the world was just gonna see him as the kid that got sold by their dad over and over again. He said he didn't want to keep trying to make everyone happy…doing  _everything_ he could think of to get on people's good sides…but never being able to get them to see  _him._

"We got him to hospital…he barely made it, the doctors said. I gave them blood, to help replace what was lost. He had to go back to inpatient therapy. That was when Oliver started to look into moving to America. Cameron never liked it in Iceland.  _There,_ the scandal was on the back of everyone's hand, practically." He took in a slow breath. "We came here…and it  _still_ didn't stop. Not completely. It wasn't nearly as bad, but he was still ignored for the most part, and still talked about. People assumed, and gossiped, and judged, without even trying to see whether or not he was changed. Without even trying to think of the possibility he might be an actual human being. And still…years later…it's the same."

Kay barely heard him when he mumbled: "Sometimes I think that note was absolutely right…"

"Jonathan…I'm so sorry…" He shrugged as if to say it wasn't her fault. But it partially  _was._ "I can't imagine…I can't imagine  _any_ of it. But…it's not true. You'll always have the people that only think of that, and— and do things like that. But you also have  _so_ many people admiring you for all you've accomplished. Think about it! You and Cameron are the world's most famous magicians, you have shows, you do appearances…Cameron is happy with Cornelius, and you've landed a spot in the FBI." This was said only half-teasingly. But she was so relieved to see him smile a little. "You two have come so far. Sometimes people forget that. Or…sometimes people are insensitive like I was, and I'm sorry. Cameron is more than just what happened to him." Jonathan closed his eyes and ducked his head at the sentiment. "Just like you're more than what happened to you, too."

He looked at her in silence for a long moment. Before he offered a small: "Thanks, Kay."

She nodded. "Does…does it all still bother Cameron? All the attention like that?"

He crossed his arms, leaning on the table. He shook his head. "No…no, it doesn't bother him."

"Well, that's good. I'm glad to hear that, at least."

Silence filled the room for a while. Until, glancing at her a little anxiously, Jonathan asked: "What do you think of him? Of…Cam? Now that you know him more?"

She smiled. "He's a good man. He's smart, and clever, and nice…he's wonderful. I couldn't care less about his past. Not that it isn't important…but because he  _is_ a lot more than just that."

His next question caught her off-guard. "And…what do you think about  _me?"_

She held his stare and groped for something to say. For some reason, her chest was squeezing. She started speaking even though she didn't really have a clue as to what she was going to say. It all just came out on its own. "I think you're a good man, too. You're smart, and sweet… _overexcited_ , maybe, at some points." He smiled a little, and she did too. "You're a good friend, and I admire you for the way you've taken care of Cameron." His smile grew sadder. "You've gotten through quite a lot to get here…you  _both_ did. But I'm glad you did. Because otherwise, I wouldn't have gotten to meet you."

He warmed. This time, he meant it more when he repeated: "Thanks, Kay."

They smiled at each other. There was mirrored affection in their eyes that was going unsaid but was registered regardless. Before Kay cleared her throat and moved on quickly, before she could investigate the tugging in her chest for too much longer. "So— tell me about this Disney vacation. I've gotta know now."

Jonathan sniffed, laughing. He wiped at his eyes, and Kay pretended not to notice. She just focused on his smile and how much lighter his voice was when he started. "Okay, well we were thirteen…."

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

The show ended with Cameron and Jonathan center stage, bowing and waving to the crowd of a little over ten thousand. Then the lights went off, and the show was officially over. The applause lasted a while afterwards, as if people were hoping for an encore, but there wasn't one. Once they realized, the roar of clapping was replaced by a roar of voices, instead. People were recounting their favorite tricks, yelling about how amazing it was, more than just a handful of girls were fawning over the two magicians. Kay could have  _sworn_ she heard someone say: "Yeah but his  _brother_ isn't dating anyone! I still have a chance!"

She had a VIP pass, just like Emma and Oliver. They went backstage and Kay was immediately greeted by a bear hug from Jordan that came out of nowhere. He was out of breath— like he'd been running for the past two hours straight. Which he probably had. "Hey!" he cheered. Kay's grin widened when she realized one by one the whole team was finding their way to them. "Was that the best show ever or was it the  _best show ever?"_ When Gunter walked up, wiping his hands off with a rag, they gave each other a high-five. "I'll be accepting thank-you's by everyone in alphabetical order!"

" _You'll_ be accepting thank-you's!?" Cornelius looked even more gorgeous up close. She was in a black dress, her hair perfectly straightened. Most people couldn't pull off the glaringly-red lipstick she was wearing now, but she wasn't one of them. She took the term 'beautiful assistant' to a whole different level. Her arm was around Cameron's waist. Jonathan was walking on her other side. They were all grinning.  _"I'll_ be accepting  _all_  of them! You remember that fire I put out during intermission!?"

"That wasn't a  _fire!_ It was an  _ember,_ at  _most!"_ Jordan scoffed.

She glared. She started to say something when Cameron nudged her. She turned and looked at him, very put-out. "It was a  _big_ fire," she muttered. "It was huge."

"I know it was," he assured teasingly, kissing her cheek. "And you put it out and I'm proud of you."

She looked away with a roll of her eyes, and a snicker.

"Well, well, well,  _Kay Daniels_ decided she wasn't too  _good_ to come see a magic show!" Jonathan crowed. Kay smirked. "I thought it would be a cold day in hell. I'd better grab my scarf." His grin was just getting bigger and bigger, the closer he got. "How was it? Was it as horrible as you'd thought it'd be?"

"It was only mild torture," she affirmed. But then went on more seriously. "It was  _very_ good, you impressed me. I had no idea how you did any of it."

"It's the secret  _triplet_ that helps us do it," he hissed like it really  _was_ a secret. It was her turn to laugh. "Thanks for coming— even though it didn't cost you a single thing. I'm glad you liked it— I could've sworn you weren't gonna come!"

She smiled. "Of  _course_ I'd come," she said, a little softly.

His smile softened with more affection. For a second, they just stared at each other, completely oblivious to everyone else.

Until Emma flew at Jonathan and wrapped him up in a hug. "Oh, I'm so  _proud_ of you! You were so  _great,_ weren't they so great, Oliver!?" Oliver grinned, pulling in Cameron for a hug. He was rolling his eyes, but when his dad hugged him fully, Kay saw a tiny smile. Jonathan's eyes were huge, thanks to the fact Emma was crushing him and swaying so much he was practically falling side to side. "Seeing these always make me so proud— my little boys are so amazing!" Kay snickered when Jonathan's cheeks went bright red. "But they make me so  _sad,_ too, because you're so big now! You grew up!"

"That's how the life cycle works," Jonathan yelped, trying to pry her off.

"Well  _stop it!_ I miss when I could still hold you!"

"I can still do it!" Oliver declared. And before Cameron could try to run away, he was grabbing around and yanking him up. They were practically the same height— Oliver was a little taller. Cameron whined, pushing at his arms and snapping that he was ridiculous and to let go of him. But Oliver was dead set on proving his point. He picked Cameron up, however awkwardly. "Try to escape my  _hug!"_ He was staggering under his weight, but refused to put him down. "You  _can't!"_

"Dad— Dad stop, this is— this embarrassing,  _stop!"_ But he was laughing the entire way.

Kay's eyes were soft. As she watched Emma fuss over the collar of Jonathan's suit, and Oliver refused to put Cameron down. As she looked at how happy they all were. And how far they all must have come.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

"I want  _one_ more kiss."

"Mom, the flight started boarding  _fifteen minutes ago, no."_

"I'm just gonna  _miss_ you!" Emma fumed. Jonathan rolled his eyes when she grabbed him up into a hug. The fiftieth hug that hour. Reluctantly, he hugged her back. When he pulled away she sighed and drew Cameron into another, too. He looked much less flustered. The whole team had come to the airport to say goodbye. It wouldn't be a long plane ride at all— Maine wasn't that far. But to Emma, she might as well be flying back to Iceland. "We'll come up and see you all again before the holidays! I promise!"

"It was lovely to see you again," Dina said, giving one last hug.

Oliver was clapping Gunter's shoulder, saying something about how he'd try his suggestion to fix their TV back at home. Jordan was leaning over to interject that  _his_ solution would be much better. Kay smiled, as she caught Emma hug Cornelius— she noticed her hug was significantly longer than the one she had given Dina. And that before she drew away, she planted a tiny kiss on the woman's cheek. There was so much gratitude in Emma's eyes when she looked at her, that it made Kay melt. But she was quickly stiffening when she realized she was  _next_  on Emma's hug list. She hadn't realized she would be  _on_  it.

Emma walked over to her and pulled her in. Kay laughed in surprise. She expected that to be it— an awkward, tiny hug. But her surprise mounted when Emma kept her hands on her shoulders. Her blue eyes were soft as they searched Kay's. "It was nice to meet you, Kay," she said.

She smiled. "Likewise."

Emma nodded. But there was a surprising amount of worry on her face. She lowered her voice when she spoke next. "Listen, honey…I  _like_  you. I think you're a wonderful woman." Kay's smile turned a bit unsure. "And maybe I'm worrying too much, but…it's my  _job_ to worry. And I…I worry about my boys probably a  _lot_  more than other mothers do." Kay's heart twisted as she remembered Jonathan's story. She nodded. Emma seemed relieved she understood. "But…you just…be good to my son. I don't know if you realize, but…a mother a can tell." Kay flushed with embarrassment. But Emma just squeezed her shoulders. "All I ask…is that you be kind to him. That…you take care of him. With  _anything_. He needs…needs someone like that. He needs understanding. He always has." This was sad with sorrow. "You know what I mean?"

Kay softened. She nodded. "Yes. Of course."

Emma smiled, but her worry stayed. "Okay," she breathed. "Okay, that's all I wanted to know." She hugged her one more time. By now, Oliver was staring at her expectantly, so she flashed Kay one last smile before she let go. Kay watched as she stopped to give her sons one more kiss on the cheek before she rushed to her husband. The team stood and watched until their plane left the runway before they started for the parking lot, moving on quickly to decide where to go for dinner.

Kay seemed to be the only one lingering on the goodbye. She was doing her best not to show it. But the entire night she was acutely aware of how many times she caught herself glancing at Jonathan. And how many times she'd ripped her eyes away when he started to look over at her, blushing and hoping he hadn't caught her staring.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

"You could come. You know. If you wanted to."

She perked, looking at him with surprise. They were sitting in her office, Jonathan in a rolling chair next to her. He was purposefully focusing on the file in front of them. But she could tell his posture was much stiffer than usual. When she just stared at him, he shrugged, shaking his head like it didn't really matter. "Only if you wanted to," he repeated. "It's whatever you want to do."

She blinked a couple of times. "You mean on tour?"

He shrugged again, the same exact way. "Yeah— I mean— if you  _want_ to."

She was quiet for a moment. Until: "Isn't it…long?"

He still wasn't looking at her. He sounded more nervous when he offered: "Deakins agreed to it."

She wasn't sure what she was more surprised at: the fact he had already talked to Deakins, or the fact she had actually said she was okay with such a long leave of absence. "You…already talked to Deakins?"

"Yeeeah." The word was quiet, and long. "I mean— I didn't tell her you were  _going_ …I just asked if it was something you  _could_ do. Which…can either be seen as really weird, or really sweet, and I think you should consider the latter more." He finally locked eyes with her; she still looked bemused. He shrugged again, like it was a nervous habit. "It's only three months…we're  _going_ all over the place. It's the same show as last tour, we're just going out of the US this time. We stop in Paris…you mentioned you wanted to always wanted to go there, right?" She had to think for a second. But she thought she  _did_ remember mentioning it. Off-handedly, a long time ago. She was surprised he remembered. "Everyone would be thrilled to have you. Everything's paid for."

"But…I'm not…a part of the team, I won't be doing anything," she argued.

"You  _are_ a part of the team," he argued immediately. The next part slipped out. "And you don't need a reason to be there— I'd just want  _you_ there." Her eyes widened a little. Jonathan seemed to realize what he'd let go. He was rushing to try and fix it, in a very noticeable way. "I mean— Dina and Cornelius, they'd really want you to go. They're always whining about…being outnumbered by guys, they would probably like having another girl around, and…and it's all  _paid for,"_ he repeated.

Kay found herself smiling. "I'd like to go," she announced, smacking Jonathan with surprise. He looked at her but she just smiled more. And found herself murmuring a little softer: "I'd like to go with you."

If it was even possible for him to be more surprised, here it was. "Really?"

"I'd have to check…but…if Deakins said it was alright…and if it's already all put together…" She brightened. "I don't see why I wouldn't. I missed you, last tour. And it'd be fun, to go on this one."

His grin softened. "Good…that's good…I missed you last tour, too," he admitted shyly.

Subconsciously, they were both leaning a little closer. Kay didn't even really notice, until she felt their noses brush a little. She was too busy staring at his eyes— at how beautiful they were. How soft they were, how kind they were, and how they were hollowed out with a certain kind of sadness sometimes but at the same time they were braced with such hope, too. She'd been getting caught on those eyes more and more, lately. Now, she couldn't even blink. He was staring just as intensely back. He reached up towards her face, brushing his fingers gently along her cheek before threading them back through her hair.

Her eyes closed the second his lips met hers. She felt a thrill run through her when they came together— the telltale feelings of butterflies that she had thought ceased existing after the breakup with Isaac. Now, here they were, and they were ten times worse. Even the tiny, simple kiss was catching her off guard. It didn't last for long. But it was lingering— when Jonathan pulled away it was clear neither of them really wanted it to end. She realized at some point her hand had strayed up to rest against his chest. She kept it there.

They withdrew, both red and unsure. But when they saw the other looked just as clueless as to what just happened, they started to crack, and laugh at themselves. They didn't kiss again, but they stayed close together. Kay let her hand fall, and the second it hit the desk, Jonathan's fingers were finding hers. They traced their hands together. And found that the fit felt entirely natural. The simplest thing in the world.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

"Hey, hálfviti!" Jonathan and Kay turned at Cameron's call. He was staring after them blandly— they'd been so busy talking and walking together that the team had started to go a separate way and they hadn't even noticed. Kay had no idea what the word he'd yelled was, but Jonathan was giving him a look, so it couldn't have been all that complimentary. "Baggage is  _this_ way, I dunno where you think you're going!"

Jonathan grumbled, embarrassed. Kay hurried after him join the others. "We're not in  _Reykjavik,_ we're in  _Paris._ If you're gonna insult me, do it right— and the word for 'idiot' in French is the same as in English, so."

"Yeah, but  _connard_ isn't," Cameron drawled, looking back and continuing to walk. Missing Jonathan's  _second_ glower as they all started walking again. Kay was trying to hide her smirk, but she must have done a bad job because Jonathan looked at her and his indignation tripled. When she started giggling, apparently he couldn't keep back his own, either.

Gunter and Jordan went to get the bags. The others stayed back. Dina already had a map open— she was muttering to herself, which was what she tended to do when she was stressed, so nobody was risking talking to her. Cameron and Cornelius were talking quietly off to the side. Nobody was paying Jonathan and Kay any mind. He turned and smiled at her before he whispered: "I'm going to try and escape Dina's wrath at some point tonight— I want to take you out someplace."

"You don't have to," she murmured back, on impulse.

"I know I don't  _have_ to," he dismissed. "But it's the first night in Paris…I wanna do something nice."

"Just  _getting_ me here in the first place is nice, Jonathan."

"Yeah, but what you apparently didn't realize is that I'm the nicest person ever," he hissed.

She shot him an affectionate look. "Well, it sounds nice. If you can manage it."

He hesitated but got himself to reach out. He grabbed her hand and intertwined their fingers. She stiffened a little, at first. They hadn't mentioned to the team what had happened between them, though they were pretty sure they already knew. All the same, the gesture took her off guard. But at the doubtful look Jonathan gave her, she melted. She held back to his hand and eased the tension off her shoulders. A smile spread over her face. Embarrassed, and shy, which she never was, which made it even better.

Jonathan glanced around her, and she perked when she noticed a subtle change in him. She turned, following his gaze, and realized Cameron was staring at them. No…he wasn't just staring, he was… _glaring._ It wasn't an angry glare— not exactly. But it wasn't friendly. It seemed like it was almost more of a warning look. Whatever it was, it disarmed her. Her face fell, in surprise and confusion and even a little indignation at the way he was looking at them. Cornelius was looking between him and the pair. Her face was beginning to fall. She grabbed Cameron's hand and whispered something, but his stare wasn't leaving them.

Kay looked at Jonathan and her confusion just grew when she saw the  _scowl_ he was sending back to his brother. Unlike Cameron's look, this one was very clearly unfriendly. She'd never seen him look that mad, before. "Jonathan?" Cameron's eyes flashed at his scowl. For a second his own expression grew just as openly unfriendly. He glared at him for a second before he just shook his head and turned back to Cornelius. She weakened even more as she asked hesitantly: "Jonathan, what was that?"

"Nothing." She was surprised by his acidity. "It's  _nothing_. He's just— mad. He's being  _selfish."_

Jonathan  _never_ talked about Cameron that way. "What do you mean? Did he say something?"

"No. It's fine." His voice was curt. Before Kay could ask another question – and she was certainly opening her mouth to do just that – he was letting go of her hand and starting after Gunter and Jordan. "I'm going to help then get the bags, you can stay there." She started to object, but it was no use. She just gave up, staring after him blankly. She looked back at Cameron, but he had his back to her. She could tell by the way Corenlius' mouth was moving, though, that she was saying something to calm him down.

Jonathan left quickly. Leaving her waiting by herself, swamped with confusion and concern alike.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

She'd been waiting for Jonathan to come and pick her up. She was staying with Cornelius and Dina in the next suite over. Dina was busy ensuring their rehearsal for tomorrow was still a go. Cornelius had left a couple hours ago— Kay could only assume she'd ducked out to be with Cameron. Kay had gotten ready for what would be her and Jonathan's first official date, which had led to her going through about three outfits and two different hairstyles before she eventually just decided she was going to give up and go with a nice shirt and letting her hair do whatever it wanted.

He'd told her he'd be by at seven and they could leave. It was already 7:15. She waited for a couple more minutes, before she figured she should see what was keeping him. If he was busy with something, she would tell him – for about the sixth time today – that they didn't  _need_  to do this. She didn't say goodbye to Dina, figuring her head would probably end up off her shoulders if she did. She went down the hall and started to raise her hand to knock. When she jerked, frowning as a realization came over her.

She could her fighting. It was quiet— it was the type of fighting that came in hushed, angered whispers. But it was there; she could hear it. She couldn't hear what they were saying, but she could tell that it was Jonathan and Cameron. Her mind went back to the glare Cameron had been giving them in the airport. Her frown worsened. She was guilty for it, but she found herself leaning forward and putting her ear against the door, to try and figure out what they were saying. She caught a couple words here and there. She wasn't sure which one was saying which things. They were both equally as enraged.

"…ridiculous— this  _whole thing—"_

"No, it's  _not ridiculous,_ don't you…"

"… _stupid,_ if you think…"

"Well please  _excuse me_ for…"

"Don't  _throw that back_ in my…"

"Just let me  _have…"_

"And what happens when…?"

She knocked, and the voices abruptly stopped. There was a period of silence. But right before she was about to call out to maybe say something, the door was opened. She tried to wipe the guilt off her face when she saw Jonathan. But it was easier to smile when she realized he'd dressed up in a suit and tie for her. Despite what she'd heard just a moment before, he was smiling. "Kay!" He looked at his watch, and guilt rushed into his expression. "Oh my God! I'm so sorry! It's so late!"

"It's alright…are you okay?" she asked. "I heard…"

"What?" he prompted, when she didn't finish the thought. She shrugged aimlessly, but her eyes went to Cameron. He was looking at Jonathan with that same hostile look he'd had before. When he noticed Kay was looking his way, he straightened a little. His eyes rounded out more, and something changed in the look on his face…so he looked more upset than anything else. Jonathan followed her stare to look over his shoulder to Cameron. The second he did, Cameron was turning away, shaking his head a little as he left.

Jonathan turned back around, and her heart pulled at the look he wore. She wilted, pausing before she tried: "If this is causing a problem, Jonathan, we don't have to go…"

"No! No, it's— it's fine, it's not that, it was about something else," he rushed.

Her frown stayed. "What?"

He took in a deep breath. His expression was turning more into a cringe. "I just— can we go?" he asked apologetically. When she still didn't seem sure, he took a smaller step closer and lowered his voice. "I just don't want to talk about it. Now," he all but whispered. There was something about his face and his voice was just making her more worried. But it made it harder to be cautious when he pressed: "I  _really_  just want to have a good night with you…and go out to dinner…"

She stayed quiet for a couple more seconds. Before she smiled. "Okay," she offered. The relief on his face was very noticeable. But so was his smile. "Yeah, let's go, then." He brightened. His hand went down to hers, and he started out the door. She turned to follow. And yet just before she turned, her eyes caught on someone  _else_  she hadn't noticed, yet. Cornelius was standing near where Cameron had been; she hadn't left. Her eyes were trained intently on her. The expression on her face was unreadable.

Kay hesitated, her face falling.

But the second their eyes met, Cornelius was already turning and heading after Cameron.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

"Yeah, but what are you going to do about the second act?" Cornelius was demanding.

"The second— what are you talking about?" Jordan asked.

"The  _second act…_ you have a plan for that, right?"

He was silent, and blank. He looked from her to the piece of paper he was holding.

Her eyes flashed with irritation. "You don't have a plan for the second act?"

"I don't… _not…_ not have a plan…" he mumbled.

"You realize the show is tomorrow, right?" she growled.

Jordan was at a loss of what to say, so he was overjoyed when he noticed Kay walking up to them.  _"Kay!_ Look, Kay is here!" he cheered. "Kay, come have a girl talk with Cornelius, come socialize for a while!" Cornelius turned around, and the second she did, Jordan was taking off. When Cornelius noticed, she looked after him with an impatient scowl. However, she didn't give chase. She just sighed and put him out of her mind.

Kay winced apologetically – she hated the thought of interrupting anything having to do with the show, considering it wasn't in her element at all – but Cornelius gave her an exhausted smile. "It's like working with five-year-olds," she sighed. "I should be paid more. What's up?"

Kay laughed a little, but it was nervous. She had to hesitate to draw up the courage to even begin. She ended up stalling. "I'm— not interrupting anything, am I? This can wait…" Cornelius waved her off. Kay's hands wrung a little, in front of her. "I just…wanted to see if I could talk to you. About last night."

Cornelius was scrolling through her phone, still listening. Kay thought she saw her pause a little. But she got over it quickly, and went back to looking over whatever it was on her screen. That, or she was just pretending to look at something, to avoid looking at  _her_. "Oh— yeah, how was your date?"

"Well— it was good…" It was fantastic, actually. They'd gone to a place that Kay probably couldn't have even had a chance of getting into without Jonathan. She'd ordered the least expensive thing on the menu, which translated to forty dollars. Jonathan had bought the best wine she'd ever had, which they'd only ended up drinking a fraction of, thanks to the fact Jonathan  _didn't_  drink. But they'd gone out walking afterward, and they'd seen the Eiffel Tower lit up. It was such a perfect night, she'd forgotten the fight she'd heard right up until Jonathan kissed her goodnight and left for his suite. But remembering how distraught he'd looked, she'd decided she should try this route instead, and ask Cornelius about it.

"But I was just…I just wanted to ask about…Cameron and Jonathan." Cornelius glanced up at her. "All of a sudden, something seems…wrong with them. They seem angry at each other, and I heard them last night. And I…know that you were in there, too. I don't need to know everything, if it's…not my business," she rushed, when Cornelius glanced away. "But…it just— I'm worried. About both of them, but…Jonathan seemed upset, last night, when I tried to ask. If there's something wrong…I'd like to help. If I could."

The other seemed to think for a long moment. She looked Kay up and down. Kay liked Cornelius— her, Dina, and Cornelius got along well. She liked her because she never sugar-coated things, hardly. She was upfront when you really needed her to be. And she was kind and sarcastic everywhere else. That was why she was a good person to ask, Kay thought. Sure enough, her voice was steady when she fired back a question to Kay. "Kay, do you like him?"

She did a double-take. "Do I…?"

"Jonathan," she clarified uselessly. "Do you like him? Do you care about him? Honestly?"

"I— yes, I do…I care about him," she admitted quietly.

"How much?"

"I'm…it's a little…early to really…say…" she mumbled. Cornelius was waiting for an answer, though. Kay did her best. She thought of how many late nights they'd pulled, even though they both had an early morning the next day. How he memorized the way she liked her coffee, how he remembered her mentioning months upon months ago that she'd like to go to Paris. How much better cases were, when he was a part of them. How when he couldn't help because he was busy with shows and appearances, she found herself wishing he was there. How easy it was to talk to him. The confession came slowly, but earnestly. "I care about him…a lot. I do. He's…my best friend."

Cornelius studied her, like she was analyzing whether or not she truly meant it. But she must have come up with nothing to hold against her. "Then…my advice is…to just remember that," she offered. "If you really care about him, nothing else will matter. Just…keep that in mind." She shook her head. "Cameron and Jonathan aren't  _really_  mad at each other. They're just…they've been through a lot…you can't forget that."

"I know…I know, but I'm just confused why—"

"It just gets in the way. Sometimes. More often than other times. And it's difficult to understand. They're just trying their best." She said this very curtly; it was clearly her way of telling her she didn't want to talk about it anymore. Kay entertained the idea of pushing her at least a little bit more. But the look on her face also served as a warning. She just ended up nodding. Cornelius did too. She looked a little guiltier. She offered her a smile as she reached out and rubbed her arm. "He cares about you, too," she offered, a bit quieter. "He really does. In our opinion, that should be the only thing that matters."

She nodded again, and watched as Cornelius walked away from her.

It wasn't until she disappeared from view did Kay realize she hadn't understood that last part at all.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

"She liked art…I was never as good as her, but we would paint together, some nights…"

"She sounds great…"

"She was. She was  _really_  great. I miss her…"

They were laying together on the bed in Jonathan's room in the suite. Everyone had gone out that night, but they'd come back early. It was nice. They hadn't turned the lights on. She could barely see, but she could  _feel_  Jonathan and his arm around her waist. She was turned to lay with her head in the crook of his neck. It was comfortable, this way. It was relaxing. She never wanted to move. "I can't imagine losing my brother…" Jonathan breathed. She wilted, snuggling into him more. "I bet she's proud of you, though. For all you've done."

"It's almost bad to say…but it's nice to have someone else that understands…just a little." Jonathan was silent. She was glad; it gave her a chance to figure out what to say. "You probably saw it time and again with Cameron…seeing Caroline that way was so horrible. I'm  _glad_ you don't know how the other half of it feels. But…you and Cameron…I just admire you for getting the two of you through all of that. And I know you don't like to talk about it. But really…it's amazing. And it's even more amazing when you see where you are now." She turned a little more into him.  _"You're_ amazing, Jonathan…"

He was still quiet. But she felt his hand start to trace up and down her side.

"Sorry," Kay laughed a little. "It's just…easy to talk to you. Everything ends up falling out."

"Don't be sorry," Jonathan murmured. He planted a kiss against her temple. Her chest warmed with affection. He hugged her more to him, and she responded by letting go of his hand so she could reach up and hug him around the shoulder. "I think the same thing…" He was quiet for a couple of long seconds, before he murmured a soft: "I haven't had someone like you, before…" She picked her head up a little to look at him. She couldn't, really, in the dark, but she could see him enough. "I haven't had anyone…make me feel like you do." A smile was already spreading over her face. It just warmed, the more he spoke. "You make me feel happy…but you also make me feel scared…"

She frowned. "Scared?"

"My entire life, things have always seemed to go wrong…I don't want you to go wrong too..."

She sat up a little bit. "Not  _everything_  has gone wrong for you," she objected gently. "And even if it had, I still wouldn't be the same. I wanna be different, for you…and I think I can be." She paused, before her hand drifted up to brush her fingers through his hair. She leaned down a little bit more. "I think I  _want_  to be, anyway," she breathed. She felt his hand drew up her side again. She rested her forehead down against his. "I haven't had anyone like you, before, either, Jonathan Black."

His hand had gone up to the side of her neck. It stuttered there. Kay didn't move, but she felt those butterflies again. For a second they just stayed close, painfully aware of every single detail about the other. Jonathan moved first, knitting his fingers in her hair and guiding her gently down to his lips. She sighed, her eyes sliding closed when he did. Each kiss was soft and gentle, but at the same time, it was heavy with everything they wanted to say. It was heavy with months of close friendship, of gratitude. They started out slow, but quickly that wasn't staying the case.

Both her hands went up into his hair; she shifted and moved so that she was straddling him. She barely had time to press flush to him and hear his instant reaction, before he was moving. It was so fast but fluid, as she found herself suddenly pressed into the mattress, with him hovering over her, instead. Her arms locked around the back of his neck and she pulled him closer with a heavy sigh as his hands roved down her sides again, down her thighs and back up again. She tilted her head to capture his lips again. Because she didn't want to part from him, her hands were clumsy when they got to his shirt buttons. She was grateful for the help he immediately gave, and the speed of which they then were able to take it off.

And she was grateful for how fast he set to work getting her shirt off, too. She was quickly losing her breath more and more; she gasped when he bent to kiss her neck, just as hard and forceful. He kissed an agonizingly-slow trail down her neck, along her collarbone, down her sternum. Her back arched, and her breath caught. Her fingers gripped harder in his hair as she found herself shakily exhaling his name. "Jonathan…" He came back up to her and kissed her in response, urgently and deeply. He pulled her more against him and she wasn't fighting him at all.

The only thing she was rushing to do was get closer to him. To kiss him more and kiss him harder, and feel him against her. That was the only thing she could think about.

For once, there was only one thing on her mind, and it was him.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Once again, Jonathan Black was all over Twitter…and this time, so was Kay Daniels.

There were photos of them she hadn't even realized had been taken. It was when they'd gone out for lunch in London. Nobody had stopped them, but here they were; Jonathan was holding the door open for her, and she was stepping out and smiling at him. Another and they were walking down the street, hand-in-hand. All the articles were speculating over who this new 'mystery girl' was, and although they weren't actually saying so, they were all wondering what Jonathan Black was doing dating a  _nobody_.

'Jonathan Black Has a Girlfriend?'

'Jonathan Black Seen Out and About with an Unfamiliar Face.'

'Is This the New Magic Couple?'

Some people were recalling seeing her with him before— when they were just out on the street and people demanded a picture with him and she had been standing (probably pissed) in the background. Some were saying she was pretty, some, of course, were saying less nice things. Some people were already throwing out couple names— 'Jay' was the one that made the most sense. Some people were mourning their official loss over ever marrying one of the twins. It was tons of attention and she was a little overwhelmed that it was all centered around her when Jonathan showed her.

She was quiet, just staring and scrolling with a nervous look on her face. Jonathan looked ten times as nervous, though. "I understand if it's a lot…" he mumbled eventually. She looked at him and her face fell when she saw his nerves. "If this is…an issue, it's…I don't even like the media talking about  _me_ , but there's just…nothing I can do to stop it, it just…comes with the territory, so…if it's…"

She looked from him to the phone, realizing his fear. She shook her head, handing it back to him. "I don't care." His eyes widened a little. "They can talk about me however much they want— it doesn't affect the way I feel about you. It doesn't affect us." He was slowly brightening the more she asserted this. She smiled, stepping forward so she could wrap her arms around his waist and bring him closer. She gave him a tiny kiss, which made his smile turn into a beam. "It's annoying and weird…but you're already both of those things. So. I'm used to it."

He laughed. She loved his laugh. He settled his head on her shoulder, keeping her against him for longer than he usually did. He murmured into her neck: "Good. I'm glad."

"It's just a little detail. It doesn't matter to me."

This just made him hug her tighter.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

"If you don't leave for your interview  _right now,_ I'm going to  _murder you!"_ Dina snapped.

Jonathan grinned, winding his arms around Kay more. "You'll have to go through  _her_ , first."

"I am not above it  _go! Move your legs!"_ Kay broke into giggles as Dina started to shove herself between them, smacking at Jonathan to get him into gear. He started laughing too— she felt his arms loosen more and more as Dina began to win.

He managed to duck forward a few times, to give her a couple of last-minute kisses. By the time Dina was literally dragging him away from her, Kay was a blushing, smiling mess. She crossed her arms over her chest and watched fondly as he made a show of reaching back to her. "I'll be right back!" he called. "One hour!" Ignoring Dina's irritated snap of 'The interview is  _two hours,_ and I've  _told you this twice!'_

She giggled, her expression warm as she watched him go. But then her eyes were drawn to the left.

Cameron was standing a ways away. Kay straightened and her eyebrows drew together a little when she saw that he was watching his brother leave with slightly narrowed eyes. There was an edge to his look…she tried to figure out whether or not he was  _angry._ She didn't  _think_ he seemed a hundred percent. But something was certainly wrong in his eyes, as he looked after Jonathan. His jaw was locked back, and his hands were curled tight. Eventually, he must have felt her eyes on him. He stirred. When he turned and looked at her, he stopped a little short. His face fell, and his shoulders drooped. At her questioning look, he hesitated. She thought he opened his mouth as if to say something. But he must have taken it back.

Because all he did was turn and follow Dina and Jonathan.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

"You okay?" she murmured.

He nodded, but she didn't believe him.

"It was a great show," she tried. He just nodded again. They were laying together. He had an arm around her and he was currently drawing his thumb gently up and down her collarbone. He'd been quiet ever since the show had ended. He's just wanted to be like this. Which was nice…but she could see that something was straining him. He looked sad. He looked  _terribly_ sad. And worried. She scooted a little closer. "Jonathan, what is it?" She put a hand against his cheek, her touch light. "Is it about Cameron?"

He didn't actually answer but the pain on his face told her she was right.

"Did he do something? Say something?" Jonathan shook his head again. She wilted. "What's  _wrong_ with you two lately…?" His blue eyes flickered to her and focused on her face. He only stared at her despairingly. "You can tell me, Jonathan. If you're— worried about him, I can maybe help?" He couldn't speak. The discomfort on his face was speaking volumes though, and suddenly the realization slammed into her. Her eyes widened, and her stomach dropped. "He's— he's not…doing  _drugs_ again, is he…?"

Jonathan cringed. He shook his head, but it was more like he was trying to shake his head free of certain thoughts. Her alarm and her worry still stayed. "No, it's— it's not— no." His voice was choked; it made it even harder to believe him. "I just— it's a lot of things, and I don't know how— I don't know how to…" He grimaced, ducking his head. "I just don't want to talk about it…" he mumbled, almost ruefully. Her heart twisted at the defeated tone. "It's too much, I don't even know how to  _start_ and I don't want to—…" He looked at her, deflating. "I just wanna enjoy being here. With you. Right now," he murmured eventually.

She thought about pressing. But she couldn't bring herself to. He looked tired and upset and at a loss. She just smiled tenderly, and settled closer to him. "Okay," she murmured gently. She heard him let out a relieved breath, and she gave him a kiss on the cheek. "That's fine. I just wanna do that, too."

He hugged her tighter, and ducked his head more into her shoulder. "Thank you…"

She smiled, worry and affection alike mingling in her voice when she replied. "Of course."

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

"Cameron! Wait, Cameron!"

He was rushing, half-running, half-walking, but he slowed, at her calls. He turned, but it wasn't without the ghost of a grimace on his face. Kay ran to him the rest of the way. "Kay, can this wait?" he demanded, before she could catch her breath enough to speak. "They  _really_ need us all back on the bus, we're wasting time and the meet-and-greet is in like  _ten minutes_ it's  _halfway_ across town—"

"It's really fast, it is, I just— I just want to know what's happening between you and Jonathan…"

He eyed her. "What?"

She took in a deep breath and braced herself. "You and Jonathan have been at odds ever since we got here, it seems…is it just the tour stress? Or is there…something  _wrong?_ Is there something I can help with?" He just stared at her. His jaw was setting back. She was getting desperate— she knew there wasn't a lot of time before Dina would sprint into them screaming about how late they were. But she'd wanted to catch him while he was alone. "Jonathan is just really upset about it, I can tell, and it  _kills_  me to see him upset, and to see you and him not the way  _usually_ are." He made a face. If she didn't know any better, she would have thought he rolled his eyes when he looked away. "If there's just— something wrong—"

"How about you talk to your  _boyfriend,_ not to me?" he snapped, making like he was going to turn.

" _Cameron."_ This time he  _definitely_  rolled his eyes. "This isn't  _like you—_ this isn't like  _either of you,_ what's going on?"

He ducked his head. "Like  _you_ would know anything about us," he grumbled.

Her eyes narrowed. "Excuse me?" she asked thinly.

He looked at her. Seemed to debate for a couple seconds. Before he shook his head. "You don't. Kay," he started, flatly. Her scowl worsened. "You  _don't_ know us. Alright? You don't know  _anything,_ and I've  _put up with you for a while now,_ but you're  _really starting to_ push _it,_ and  _I_  can't hold my tongue for much longer." The sudden anger in his voice shocked her. "Because you think you're so  _different_ from everyone else, and who knows— you  _might_ be. But right now you're  _not._ Whether or not that's  _your fault, or his fault, or_ my _fault, I don't know._ What I  _do_ know, is  _you_ being here, and—  _reinforcing everything— that's_ not  _okay. You're_ not okay.  _Not_ right now."

He whirled around and started to leave. She wasn't having it. She ran ahead, shoving herself in front of him and pushing him back. He was startled, and his glare just got ten times angrier, but she didn't care. She didn't care about anything right now— she was just mad. "What are you  _talking_ about?" she snapped. "You're not making  _any_ sense— Jonathan has been upset this  _entire_ tour, and it's because of you!"

" _No,_ it's because of  _you,_ he just won't admit it!" Cameron yelled back. She jerked, her anger faltering for just a second. But it was a second that he saw. "I knew from the very beginning that this was going to be horrible, I knew it would blow up in our faces, but guess what, history is a  _fucking_  cycle!" He practically spat this at her. Her disbelief and confusion and anger were skyrocketing. She'd meant to come after him to fix a problem— she hadn't expected she would suddenly get  _attacked_ for no reason. About something she didn't even  _understand._ He wasn't making  _sense._ "You're not good for him like this. And it drives me  _crazy._ To see you with him. It drives me crazy— I hate it! This entire tour it's been building, and Kay, I  _swear to God,_ if you don't  _get out of my face,_ I'm going to say something I'll regret."

" _What_ in the  _world_ have I done?" she demanded, incredulous. "I haven't done  _an_ —"

"I'm  _sick of you,_ and I'm  _sick of people_ like  _you!"_ he exploded. It was impossible to tell who was angrier right now— her, or Cameron. "It's people like  _you_ that make me hate  _everyone,_ when I'm reminded they're  _all_ the same!  _Everyone's_ the same! And it pisses me off, and it just— makes him think— just—  _get out of my face!"_ He started to step around her and try to leave for the third time. "Leave me alone, I'm gonna end up saying something—"

"Did you relapse?" She was so mad and confused, it burst out.

It did the trick, though. He screeched to a stop, just standing there for a moment. Before he turned slowly. "Did I… _relapse?"_ he demanded. She just glared at him expectantly. "Did I relapse?" he repeated, louder, angrier. "Are you seriously asking me that question? No,  _Kay,_ I didn't  _relapse._ Actually."

"Show me your arms," she demanded.

" _What?"_

"Show me your arms— if you haven't relapsed, then prove it, I don't believe you. You're standing here so quick to yell at me, you're defensive, you're not making any sense, you've been hostile this entire tour, I don't  _see_ you often, Jonathan looks worried out of his mind most nights, now— I don't believe you haven't relapsed, show me your arms." She said this all very calmly.

He scowled. "I'm not  _showing you my arms,_ I don't owe you  _anything."_

Anger started to burn under her skin. Here Cameron was yelling at her, when all she was doing was trying to help. Jonathan was worried out of his mind for Cameron— he always was. She thought of the way Cornelius was always tight-lipped and strange now; maybe she knew, too. Maybe they all knew and they were just too embarrassed or concerned for Cameron to tell her. The idea of Cameron going behind all of their backs and doing drugs again was enough to push her to act. She reached out and grabbed one of his hands, quick enough so he wasn't prepared, and tight enough he couldn't immediately jerk away.

But he definitely started trying to as soon as he realized.  _"Get off me!"_ he snapped, trying to yank his arm back, but kept a firm hold on it.  _"Get off, let go of me, are you serious!?"_ She struggled to hang onto his hand. She yanked out his arm and grabbed his sleeve. Actual panic was starting to grow in his voice, which just confirmed to her she was on the right track.  _"Kay,_ seriously, _stop, let go, I didn't relapse don't— let go, let go!"_

She hiked up his sleeve, preparing herself to see the worst.

But she faltered, when she saw nothing.  _Absolutely_ nothing.

The skin was perfect, actually.

Her face fell; confusion smacked her. But it didn't stay long.

Because shock was punching her straight in the gut when her eyes fell lower.

Cameron wrenched his arm away and yanked the sleeve back down, fuming.  _"See!?"_ She was speechless. She looked up at him, her expression completely numb as she just stared. He tried to keep leaning into his anger, but he was losing it fast. His glare was breaking and cracking. And she just felt sicker when, for the briefest of seconds, he looked as unsure as she was. He looked just as at a loss of what to do or say. His expression cracked, and she saw how guilty he looked. How truly guilty…to  _her._

As soon as it did though, he tore it. Without another word, Cameron rushed away, his shoulders hunched and his head ducked low. She wanted to run after him. She wanted to demand some kind of explanation. She wanted to know what had happened. If it was something he'd did, or something worse. She wanted to do a lot of things, but she just stood there. She was too confused and shocked to move.

She just stood there and replayed all of what he had just said.

And replayed the image she had seen that had caused her to freeze.

The image she had seen when her eyes had fallen in just the right way to catch sight of his wrist.

Perfectly unblemished, without a single imperfection…or scar.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

"Hey, are you alright?"

She looked up. Jonathan was standing in the kitchen of their new suite. Dina and Cornelius had stepped out. They were alone, for right now. Her eyes flashed when they rested on him. He was looking at her with a little worry on his face. "You've been awfully quiet, all day…is there something wrong?" She didn't reply. He just seemed even more uneasy. "Kay?" Her eyes flickered to his wrists. He was wearing long sleeves. He was  _always_ wearing long sleeves— she'd never seen him in anything shorter, they've  _always_ covered his wrists, even his  _pajamas._ He'd never once even  _rolled up_  his sleeves.

He sat down across from her, the marble counter between them. "Is there something you wanna talk about?"

Her voice stayed quiet. "Did Cameron talk to you today?"

He hesitated. "I mean…not about anything… _alarming._ Why?" Her stomach jolted when she saw his eyes narrow just a little bit. When she saw him lean a little closer. "What'd he do?" Was his voice different, was it tenser? Or was she just thinking about it too much? Did Cameron just cover his scars with makeup, and that was the missing piece? No— she was holding his arm too tight, it would have smeared off, she would have felt it, she would have noticed there was a difference. Did he have scar removal surgery? Those didn't work  _that_ well. That  _look_ he'd given her— that guilt…

' _I'm going to say something I'll regret.'_

 _What_ would he say? What would  _Jonathan_ be scared of him saying?

Her stomach was twisting more and more.

' _Hey,_ Cam!  _Kay called your name._ Twice.' _'Sorry, that's— I couldn't hear, I wasn't paying attention.'_

' _I don't sleep well in general.'_

She reached out. She started to grab his wrists. He quickly moved to intertwine their fingers instead, smiling. Her heart dropped as she stared at their hands. When she thought of how many times she had reached for him and he had responded by doing this exact thing. She'd thought it was something cute. What if it was just a means of stopping her hands before they could brush his sleeves up? Push back his cuffed shirt, that just so happened to end there? Her breath caught when she thought of the night they'd spent together.

And how dark the room had been.

Her eyes were quickly stinging. It was getting harder to breathe. She wasn't sure whether that was because of her panic or her anger. Jonathan leaned a little closer like he was going to ask her again if something was wrong. When she perked and pasted a smile on her face. "I want to go swimming," she declared, doing an amazing job of keeping her voice steady. Jonathan seemed confused. "Let's go swimming— right now, let's go down to the pool."

"It's…" He tried to smile. "It's awfully late…Kay…" His laugh was nervous.

"We've stayed up later than this, before," she fired back, ready for that excuse.

"I just…I'm not really in the mood to go swimming," he offered.

She felt like someone stabbed her. Her eyes were burning more.

He got up, rounding the counter so he could stand by her. "Kay? What's wrong?" She didn't want to believe this— she couldn't believe this. This was too  _fucked up._ He wouldn't do this— not to her, he would never do this to her. She reached out to grab his wrists again, and again, he intertwined their fingers. It was more noticeable, this time; he had to rush and fumble to make it work. She was quickly losing control. She was trying to stay in denial, but it wasn't working. She wanted to believe any explanation other than the one her mind was creating, but she couldn't even  _think_  of another one. "Kay, you're—"

"Take a shower with me." The plead was strained, and burst out. But it was her final offering. Her final chance she was giving to him to show her everything was fine and that this wasn't what she was fearing. His last chance to snuff out her building panic. His last chance to prove that there would be nothing on his wrists, or ankles. Nothing to hide. That he was her Jonathan— that nothing was  _wrong._

He let go of her hand and took a step back. "Kay, you're acting…weird."

"Just take a shower with me. Jonathan." She was practically begging.  _"Come_ on."

"You're…" He was looking more and more alarmed. He sounded strained and worked up when he said a quiet: " _No,_ I'm not going to— you're not making sen— Kay!?" The second the rejection was coming, she was getting up. She shoved herself away from the counter and stormed past him, going for her room. He gave chase, but she beat him. She slammed the door and locked it. She knew he could easily unlock it if he wanted to, but she hoped the principle would keep him from doing so. She shut the door so hard it echoed throughout the entire suite. She dropped to the floor and curled her knees to her chest.

"Kay!? Kay, what's wrong!?" he was demanding.

She didn't answer. She was breathing fast and heavy, holding her head in her hands and staring at the floor with wide eyes.

" _Kay! What's happening, I don't get what's happening!"_

She remembered what Cornelius had said to her, when she had tried asking for clarification.

' _He cares about you, too. He really does. In our opinion, that should be the only thing that matters.'_

In  _our_  opinion.

Who was the second person she would have been talking about this, with?

There was only one culprit— only one option that made sense.

_In our opinion, that should be the only thing that matters._

About 'whatever happens.' About how 'if you really care about him, nothing else will matter.' About how 'It just gets in the way. Sometimes. More often than other times. And it's difficult to understand.' About how 'They're just trying their best.'

 _Our_ opinion. Her and Cameron's opinion.

Her and… _Jonathan's_ opinion.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had this chapter done already, so go ahead and have it~!  
> This is the first of two chapters-- they are both flashbacks that'll shed some light on what was just revealed last chapter and why it came to be. So this is the first half, and the next half will come next. Then, it'll pick up where the last chapter did. Then...I think this story will be just about done! So far it looks like, anyway!  
> Thank you for continuing to read and comment, I hope you all like where I'm taking this story!
> 
> Also, thank you to incorrectdeceptionquotes for the phrase "Cards on the table" I'm not creative and stole it from her ;D

He stared at himself in the mirror, his expression heavy, his eyes tired. He'd just woken up, but considering he'd only slept for around three hours, all he wanted to do was lay back down. But he was already late— Emma hated when they were late. To her, if they weren't five minutes early to wherever it was they had to go, they may as well have never shown up at all. They only had a little over twenty-two minutes until they had to go. Jonathan was at the table, already. Usually, Cameron would be right behind.

But today, he was stuck. Just staring at himself wearily. Wishing he could go back to sleep. Or at least re-do the night before, on the vain hope that maybe this time he wouldn't toss and turn for hours. Not that the hope would get him anywhere. He was just taking the second to try and wake himself up; right about now, he was coming short to just smacking himself across the face to try and help. Bottling back a sigh, he turned on the faucet and hunched over. He cupped his hands and splashed freezing water on his face. First only once, but then twice, and then a third time, when that didn't work. By the time he was done and propping himself up against the counter, his bangs were wet and sticking to his forehead.

For a couple more moments he just stayed there, taking slow, deep breaths. When he suddenly jerked at the sound of a creak. He straightened in just enough time for his brother to stick his head into the bathroom. Apparently, he hadn't heard his knock. His brother was frowning— it was the frown he always wore when he was worried but trying not to  _look_ that way. All in all, he needed a different look, because Cameron could see right through it, by this point. Although, this time, maybe it was on him. He  _was_ just loitering in here. And now he was clearly wet.

Jonathan spoke before Cameron could get his voice to work. "You coming, or what?"

"Yeah." Cameron wiped his face with his long sleeves. "Yeah, I'm on my way."

He looked him up and down in silence. Before he said: "Mom made you waffles."

At first, he just felt a tug of affection. Before he made a face. He shook his head, as he looked down and messed with the washcloths on the counter, folding them and putting them together in a stack. "She only does that when she's worried about me," he grumbled, his words just the tiniest bit barbed.

His brother was staring at him expectantly. "Does she have a reason to be worried?" he countered.

Cameron returned a little stiffly: "No."

Another tiny pause. Another surveying look from Jonathan. Before his brother offered him a shrug. "Okay. Then you get free waffles." Cameron softened a little, stifling a little laugh. Jonathan shot him a crooked smile, which helped his nerves even more before he ducked out of the room. Cameron lingered, his smile fading more and more with every passing second. He turned back and looked at himself in the mirror, again. Before he reasoned that fencing himself in the bathroom like this wasn't helping anything. It was only delaying the inevitable. So he took in a deep breath and forced himself to move away.

He walked down the hall and into the kitchen. Everyone was already sitting at the table. They never  _didn't_ have a family breakfast. Only on the rare occasions where Jonathan went to school early for the library, or Oliver had something at work come up, did they not all sit together. That only happened a couple of times, and considering they'd been together for going on four years now, it could be said that it was a pretty iron-clad schedule. Cameron took his usual seat beside his brother. He was  _very_ well aware of the fact he was the only one with waffles. And he was even  _more_ aware of the way Emma was staring at him. But the sixteen-year-old decided he was going to pretend he wasn't.

Jonathan was mid-rant when by the time he crossed the threshold. " _Nobody's_ read the book.  _How_ am I supposed to work with a group and put together an analysis if  _nobody else_ has read the book? We only have a week left. Of course, now everyone is running to me crying, asking if I'll do this, or if I'll do that, and it's like—  _what_ am I supposed to do?" He scowled, looking down and putting more force behind his fork as he stabbed harder into his eggs. "I'm just gonna end up doing all the work. That's why  _every_  time we have a project in  _any_ class, everyone  _runs_  at me—I end up just accepting I'll have to do all the work."

Oliver mumbled around a mouthful of his own eggs: "Sabotage the project. Then nobody will want to  _ever_  work with you."

He snorted, throwing him a look. "Yeah, then I'll  _fail."_

Their dad shrugged. "Small price to pay." Jonathan tried not to let the comment butter him up too much, but there was no hiding his smirk. Oliver's eyes went to Cameron, who was nudging his waffles with his fork. They were fluffy, with just the right amount of syrup and powdered sugar. There were three strawberries around the stack— it was pretty much the best-looking waffles anyone had ever seen. But he was just poking. "What do you say, Cam?" he prompted, either not noticing the boy's apparent apathy, or not addressing it. Cameron looked up, his eyes flickering between the two. "You've always been the wiser twin." This time, Jonathan definitely scoffed, which Cameron glared at him for. "Have you heard this?"

A smile teased the edge of his mouth. "I got the run-down last night," he hummed.  _"Twice."_

Oliver looked back at Jonathan. "What, you're reusing material, now?" he demanded.

"I'm  _mad,"_ Jonathan replied, in a very pleasant tone of voice. "I wanna  _complain."_

"Hmm, well you're  _really_ good at complaining." Oliver reached over for the plate in the middle of the table. By now, there was only one piece of toast left. But right before he had the chance to grab it, Jonathan lunged out and swiped it. Oliver's eyes went huge as he looked at the boy with a look much too close to betrayal. The teenager took a huge bite, chewing very smugly. Oliver narrowed his eyes in mock disgust. He pointed a finger at him and warned in a growl: "I will  _un-_ adopt you."

Jonathan mumbled through his bite: "You're too lazy to do the paperwork."

He paused. Then shrugged. "Yeah, you're right," he admitted.

Jonathan was saying something else, but Cameron's attention was won elsewhere when Emma leaned a little bit across the table, lowering her voice so it was just between them. "Hey, Cam?" Her stare was worried. He wondered if there were bags under his eyes— he  _felt_ tired enough to have them, but did he actually? He suspected he did; she looked pretty concerned. "You okay?" Her eyes flickered down to his plate. "You haven't touched any of your food…you didn't have much to eat last night, either…"

"I'm okay." As if to prove it, he ate a piece of waffle. Her stare tracked him carefully. "See? It's good. It's really good." She was still doubtful. He took another bite, but that didn't do anything, either. "I'm fine, Mom," he pressed when she stayed fretful. "Really."

She asked the first question she always did. "Is school going okay?"

He hid his frustration by smiling and taking another bite of his breakfast. "School's fine!" he reassured. "School's fine, we're starting a new project in art. It's really,  _really_ …fine." She kept staring at him warily. Keeping the smile on his face, he shook his head. "School's fine," he repeated. "Really." He felt like a broken record. And also like he wasn't doing this well at all. But still. He didn't wanna get into it. He never did, with her. He barely wanted to get into it with  _Jonathan._

She hesitated. Before she pulled out the big guns with a quiet: "Cards on the table?"

Those two words lived in this house just as much as they did. Ever since he was twelve, and they'd started family therapy along with his  _own_ therapy, they  _always_ used the phrase. When he was angry or upset or closed-off, someone else was always there to prompt him with: 'Cards on the table?' and it would somehow be enough to get him to calm down or actually voice what he needed to say. Or  _he_  would say it, too. When he was worried, he could say the phrase and it worked just as much magic. Like the time Emma and Oliver had left them at a summer camp for a week when they were fourteen. Emma had promised him they would be back soon. When he had nervously mumbled: "Cards on the table?" she had smiled and hugged him tightly with a loving: "Seven days. And I'll be right back here to get you."

She knew that playing this card was a pretty big move.

But when he opened his eyes again, they were bright. He kept his smile. "It's fine," he repeated. She sat back a little bit. She didn't say anything. But it seemed like she was a little more persuaded than she was before. "Everything's fine, Mom. Don't worry about it, really. I'm fine."

She hesitated. But softened. "…I know you are," she said eventually, warming up. "You're always fine." He nodded, before looking back down at his waffles. Emma kept studying him for a couple of seconds more. She glanced over at her husband and realized that while he'd been listening to Jonathan prattle on, he'd been glancing over at the two of them every so often. Their eyes met and she shot him a small frown. He held her gaze before, glancing one last time at Cameron, he turned back to the other twin. He said nothing. She reluctantly committed herself to doing the same.

Eventually, Emma realized they were going to be late to being five minutes early. "Boys, you've got to go! Let me get your lunches!" They both scrambled to follow her. Jonathan had finished his whole plate— Cameron had finished about three-fourths of his, which was more than enough. She rushed out the door and Jonathan was quick to follow, yelling goodbye to their dad as he snatched his backpack up, which he'd put on the ground by his chair. Cameron followed slower. He'd draped his backpack over the back of his chair; he was lifting it onto his back and beginning to follow them out when suddenly Oliver called after him.

"Hey." He closed his eyes, dreading another lecture. He turned, already horrible at disguising his exasperation. But to his surprise, there wasn't a lecture. Oliver was taking another drink of his coffee; when the boy turned, he met his gaze over the rim of his cup. He didn't pry whether or not there was something wrong. He didn't pester him and say: 'You can tell me anything.' Instead, his eyes sparkling with just the tiniest bit of mischief, he offered a flippant: "Don't take any of their  _shit,_ Cam."

He blinked, initially just surprised. He wasn't sure how he was supposed to respond. But then he cracked a smile— this time, a genuine one. Oliver's own grew. The teenager even laughed a little. Cameron stood there for a second, before, his smile sticking, he left. But not before managing to give him a tiny nod.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

The drive there was quiet. Emma had followed them to the door the way she always did, and she'd kissed them both on the cheek as she handed them their lunches, the way she always did. For some reason – though Cameron was  _more than positive_ he knew the reason why – Emma would rather die than let them ride the bus to and from school. She'd always gotten up at the crack of dawn and cooked them breakfast, then drove them. And, like clockwork, she had always been waiting for them when the last bell rang. At least now that they were sixteen, they could drive themselves. It was just a miracle she'd let them.

They'd moved to America just a year ago. But everything ended up lining up for them. Oliver found a better-paying job in Maine, and there was a house for sale that was dirt cheap, for how big it was. Their application had gone through, and Maria had given Cameron the green light to leave as well. She'd made him promise to keep her number. They'd talked about it for a long time. Debated. But it was never a secret that Cameron always missed America. He lived three years in Iceland, and each year, to him, had gotten lonelier than the last.

Not to mention…the entire ordeal that had happened last winter. After  _that, nobody_ had wanted to stay in Iceland, anymore; not even Jonathan. Even if that meant leaving behind Cornelius, he had been all too excited to welcome Cameron back home with the news that they were going  _back_  home. To their  _actual_ home. Cameron tried not to think about it too much. Though it was kind of impossible to do so with his wrists even worse than they were before— he usually wore something over them, when he could help it. It was something he felt bad for. But it was something he couldn't really talk about, or think a lot about. He tried to just focus on the other half of it. They'd hoped for this move to be a fresh start. And…well, it certainly  _started out_  that way…

"You okay, Cam?" Jonathan asked, keeping his eyes on the road.

Cameron kept  _his_ eyes trained out the window. "Yeah. 'Course I am."

They were pulling into the school parking lot, looking for a space. Cameron was hoping he'd take his word for it. But he should have figured that was too hopeful. "You'd tell me if something was wrong, Cam…right?" Cameron didn't answer right away, which he must have thought was an answer in it of itself. "Is someone bothering you?" Cameron rubbed his forehead. He didn't say anything, but he did grimace. "Because I can talk to them, Cameron— I can—"

"Listen!" His irritation led him to say this a little loudly. He closed his eyes and quickly reeled himself back in. He shook his head as if to try and clear it. "Everything's fine," he repeated, for about the millionth time. Jonathan had parked by now. He shut the car off but sat there for a while, just staring skeptically at his brother. Cameron took in a deeper breath and shook his head. He even offered him a smile. "I'm  _fine. Literally,_ the only reason I'm put off is because  _everyone_ keeps asking me if something's wrong!" Jonathan still seemed unsure. Cameron added: "Really— Johnny. I'm  _perfectly_ fine."

His hesitation stuck. His brother was silent, but Cameron could see the doubt that was still there. He waited for him to fight even more. But he breathed a sigh of relief when he finally dropped it. "Alright," he said simply. "That's all I needed to know." He flashed him one last look, but this time he was smiling. Cameron relaxed significantly. He smiled back. Jonathan got out of the car and he was close behind. The two of them would walk and talk together; they'd go to Jonathan's locker first because it was closest, then they would go to Cameron's. They would loiter together before the first bell rang— in the hallway, in the cafeteria, or in the library. They spent  _every_  morning together. It was nice. It was fun.

But ultimately they'd have to part ways. Jonathan's first class was English— Cameron's was math. They were on opposite sides of the school. Today Jonathan left early, maybe to hopefully get somewhere with his project. Cameron stood for a couple seconds alone, listening to everyone else talk and laugh together. He leaned against the wall and looked down, tugging self-consciously on his sleeves. Making sure they were low enough. Before, hunching his shoulders a little, he turned and started for his first hour. His steps a little brisker than normal.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

"I pick Aaron."

"I want Alex."

"Okay…I'll take Jamie."

"Lillian."

"Truman."

One by one, the pool grew smaller. The kids lined up against the wall gradually got to step away and go to join the team of the captain that had called them. It had been going on for a while now, and there were just a few left to pick from. Cameron was leaning against the wall, staring at the floor between his feet. He didn't need to watch and see what was happening. It was the same every game they had, like this. Football, kickball…today, dodgeball was proving itself to be the same. Might as well just join the list. He tried to keep his face blank. But when finally there was just him and one other kid, and  _that_  kid was called, and only silence followed, the task was growing much harder.

It only took a handful of seconds for the teacher to intervene. But that handful felt awfully long, to him. "Cameron, you're on August's team." Cameron's eyes flickered up. The student in question was staring at him awkwardly. Cameron looked back down. Neither of them moved, and the teacher's voice got a little sharper. _"Cameron._ You're on—"

"That's okay," August interrupted. Cameron tucked his arms tighter to himself. His stomach twisted, though he was still trying to hide the fact as best he could. "Nathan can have him." This made him feel even worse. He already knew what Nathan was going to say even before he started.

"I don't want him on my team  _either!"_ The other students clustered behind him started to whisper. Cameron caught a couple giggles. He could feel how red his face was getting; he was positive it was the reason the laughter got louder. "It was August's turn to pick—  _he_ has to have him on his team. That's what's fair. Otherwise, there'll be an uneven number." He said this like it was the end-all-be-all.

But not if August had anything to say about it. "We don't need an even number, it's okay," he snapped. "This team is happy the way it is." Everyone gathered nodded in earnest agreement.

Cameron started to duck his head when the teacher growled thinly: "Cameron needs a team— August, it was your turn to pick— he goes to you. Now everyone  _cut_  the attitude!"

"I had him on my team  _last_  time— Nathan,  _take_  him," August hissed.

"No way!" Nathan shot Cameron a glare. Cameron was just beginning to return it, when he raised his voice to declare much louder: "We don't want an  _AIDS_ kid on our team!"

This got an immediate reaction. Most of the kids started to laugh and snicker. The whispering got louder. A couple looked away awkwardly…but nobody spoke up. Cameron's face grew even hotter, especially when everyone started to laugh, not even trying to hide it. Before he could stop himself, he started to snap defensively: "I  _don't—!"_ But this was a mistake because everyone just started laughing more. His hands balled into fists. He started to tuck into himself, more. He couldn't help it. It was a habit.

"That's  _enough!"_ the teacher snapped. He looked angry, but there was no denying the discomfort on his face, now. It wasn't helping at all.  _"Stop_ it! This isn't sportsmanlike behavior! August, either you take Cameron on your team, or we don't play at all today! I'll make  _everyone_ run laps, the entire hour! Or you can grow up and  _apologize,_ take him on your team, and play the  _damn_  game!" Cameron flinched. The threat was clearly real enough to shut everyone up. All the kids stopped talking altogether, looking between Cameron and their teacher in silence.

But the threat was real, so they couldn't argue. Cameron was stinging with embarrassment as he shuffled over to August's team. The kid nearest to him sidled away when he neared; he tried to make it subtle, but it wasn't. At all. Nathan turned to lead his team to the other side of the gym, but he paused long enough to shoot Cameron a mocking smirk. It just made his stomach curl worse. He hugged himself, burning with shame as the teacher lined up all the balls along the middle of the gym. He went to the side and counted down. And blew his whistle to start the game.

He tore off. Of course, everyone else kind of staggered, not wanting to rush after and get too  _close_ in the meantime. Most of the other team was running, though, given they had an invisible line 'separating' them from him. Cameron picked up a ball and whirled around— his eyes locked on Nathan in just enough time for him to realize he was currently hurling a ball straight at him. He  _barely_ dodged. But he did.

The second he did, he whirled back and threw  _his_  at him. He hit him square in the face. It was so hard and unexpected that he ended up nearly falling. Everyone else stopped short, surprised too. Nathan was holding his face as he looked up to glare at him. The whole left side of his face was bright red. Cameron scowled coldly at him. Not even thinking, he started to back up again towards the wall on his side, raising both hands so he could flip him off  _twice._ "Too bad you didn't want me on your team," he quipped. Nathan scowled even darker, but Cameron just raised his eyebrows and snapped:  _"You're_ out."

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Cameron loved art. It was peaceful. There were grades, but you were mostly just focused on what you were making, and why  _you_  liked it. There were no forced groups. There wasn't even a whole lot of  _talking._ It was just you and whatever it was you were working on. It was relaxing— it was nice. It was his favorite. He sat in his own little world.

He'd chosen to paint the forest. The trees, and the shadows that were cast on the ground, when the sun started to set. He was painting the few flowers that were there— the tiny, purple ones that you could barely see from the window.  _That_  was what he was painting— his view from the bedroom window. From their house, in Iceland. Not… _their_ house, but the house…they had rented, when they were with…Sebastian.

Jonathan probably thought he didn't remember much about that house. Or anything else, when it came to Reykjavik. He'd be partly right. A lot was smeared, or blurred together. Most of what he remembered were snippets, and most of them had something to do with Jonathan. He remembered laying in bed and feeling safe in his brother's arms. He remembered sitting at the table and staring down at a plate of food, miserable, while he listened to Jonathan beg him to eat. He remembered Jonathan helping him sit up to vomit. He remembered him talking— not his words, but just the soothing tone of voice he'd use.

Other things he remembered with bright… _horrible_  clarity. Though he wished he didn't.

But this was one of the things he was okay with remembering. He hadn't done it often. But Cameron remembered the rare times he would drag himself out of bed and go to the window. When he would look outside with his fingers to the glass. He'd loved the woods. He'd always wanted to take Jonathan out and play in them. Back when he hadn't even been able to stand and walk for long periods of time without his legs starting to shake, he would look and picture them racing through the trees, playing tag. He'd stand there as long as he could. Until his knees would buckle, or it got too dark. Whichever was first.

He'd  _loved_  those woods. From what he remembered. So he was just painting them.

He was focused. So focused, he didn't realize when someone spoke to him. It took a tiny, awkward, cough for him to actually look up. He did and blinked a couple of times, when he found himself locking eyes with a girl he'd never seen before. She had brown hair and blue eyes. She looked nice. Unfamiliar…but nice. When he looked at her, she smiled and repeated herself. "That's really beautiful." At first, he had no idea what she was talking about. Until he looked (very stupidly) from her to the painting. Then, the dots started to connect. "You're a good artist."

"It's…um…" He  _sounded_ stupid, too. He was mentally kicking himself to snap out of it and just speak, and shook himself when he turned and looked at back at her. "It's not…done yet," he replied blankly.

Her smile got a little bigger. "Well, then, it'll only get better," she offered. He didn't know what to say to that, so he just nodded. There was an awkward gap of silence, between them. Out of sheer habit, he glanced around the room. Nobody else was paying attention. They were all just as focused as he was, on their own projects. She looked from him to the painting, before she finally asked: "Is anyone sitting here?"

He looked at the chair next to him. It had been vacant all year. His smile faltered at first. Until he looked at her again and saw there was no maleficence on her face. She was earnest. He started to smile just a little; his voice was brighter when he replied. "Uh— no. No, nobody is…sitting here. Do you…do you want to…?" The question was asked awkwardly, with a little bit of a laugh. She matched it, but nodded, setting down her own painting. "Yours is really good, too," he gushed before he could stop himself.

But she warmed. "Thank you. It's my cat— his name is Socks." Since he was stupid and had no idea what was happening right now, Cameron just smiled and laughed awkwardly again. She started to set up her supplies. While she worked, she glanced at him and smiled. "Do you have any pets?"

"A dog. Her name is Daisy."

She giggled. "How cute." He warmed. "What's your painting of? Or is just random?"

"It's…the view I had outside my window. Back when I, uh…back when I lived in Iceland."

She perked. "You lived in Iceland?" He nodded. "That's so cool! I've never even been out of the  _state._  What was it like, there?"

"It was…it was nice," he admitted. "We just…moved here because it was…the best thing to do."

"I've seen pictures from there. And pictures of the northern lights. It looks beautiful."

He nodded. "Yeah. It was." The conversation died. He hunched his shoulders a little.

But she was quick to revive it. "I haven't met you yet, I don't think." He looked up to see she was sticking out her hand for him, with a wry smile. "My name's Samantha. Samantha Strange."

"'Strange?'" he echoed, and she grinned more. He returned the favor. "I'm Cameron Oliverson."

"Your last name isn't much better," she snickered.

"It's an Icelandic thing. Your family doesn't…have a last name, you just take your dad's and add a suffix to the end," he explained. "My dad's name is Oliver, so…Oliverson."

"You don't have an accent or anything." It was odd how friendly she sounded. He wasn't used to it.

"Uh, no, I was…" His smile went weaker. "I was adopted. So." The first _person that hasn't immediately started calling you names and you're just dumping your life story on her. Fantastic. You're really something else. Are you_ incapable _of never shutting up, or do you just like the sound of your own voice?_

But she wasn't deterred. "Oh, wow! I see." She leaned on the table, getting a little closer to him. At first, he tensed, but when he saw the glint in her eye, and the smile still on her face, he relaxed. She tapped the end of her paintbrush against her cheek very thoughtfully, studying him like he was a test subject before announcing in a little giggle: "You seem awfully interesting, Cameron Oliverson." His smile grew, however nervously. But it got much more genuine when she declared: "I'm gonna have fun getting to know you."

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

When he closed his locker door, he almost jumped out of his skin. Samantha was standing right at his side, smiling from one ear to the other. "Hi!" she chirped. He was so surprised, all he could do was smile awkwardly back. He almost dropped his books. He struggled to recover and put them all into his bag instead. She giggled a little before she tilted her head to the side. "How was your day?"

"My day?" he repeated, like he didn't speak English. He sounded stunned. He froze, midway through shoving his biology textbook away. A couple people passing in the halls glanced their way. If he wasn't so locked on her, he would have noticed the awkward or confused glances as they hurried along. But he was staring at her, flabbergasted. "You're— it was fine," he breathed eventually. "My day was— it was fine, how was— how was yours?" He nearly dropped his book for English. She saved it.

"It was great," she giggled, handing it back to him. He took it shyly, putting that away, too. He wrung his hands together afterwards; he just stared at her, a little blank. He had no idea what to say. There was a brief period of awkward silence between them. Before she mused: "Well…are you gonna offer to walk me to the bus?" she prompted. He perked. "Or am  _I_ going to have to walk  _you?"_

He was the stupidest person that had ever existed when he blurted: "I don't take the bus."

"Oh." She made a show of looking him up and down. "I didn't realize you had wings."

"My— me and my brother— we drive…"

Her grin was steadfast. "Well. The student parking lot is  _by_  the buses."

"Yeah, I…" Cameron shrugged his backpack on tighter. "Yeah, I guess it is…" he laughed.

She laughed, too. Hearing her laugh made him smile even more. She nudged his shoulder. "C'mon," she urged, already starting down the hall. "You gonna make me walk by myself?" He lingered for a second, still surprised. But he got over it quickly. And snapped himself out of it, to rush after her.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

"Hey, what's with your face?"

He blinked, snapping out of his reverie when he looked up. Jonathan was leaning against the doorway, eyebrows raised and smirk evident. Cameron tried not to notice how hot his face got, but Jonathan was starting to snicker, so he figured he looked a lot like a tomato. "Nothing!" he snapped. Jonathan was shaking his head, even before he was through. "Nothing is wrong with my face, get out of my room!"

"It looks about  _twice_  as stupid as it normally does," Jonathan informed him. "I've been standing here for almost a minute, and you were just lying there grinning like an idiot." Cameron scowled. Jonathan hopped into the room lazily, reaching out to poke him in the stomach. "Whatcha  _thinkin'_ about?" Cameron smacked his hand away. Jonathan started laughing harder and pushing at him more. Cameron tried to fight back more, but all it led to was a pointless tussle— too soft on both ends for it to really count.  _"Who_ are ya thinkin' about!?" Jonathan pestered, getting louder. Cameron smacked him again, trying to shush him. He was cracking up by now. "Who're ya  _thinkin'_ about, Cam!?  _Hmm!?"_

" _Get out of my room, go be annoying somewhere else!"_ he cried.

"But  _Cam,_ you have to tell me who you're  _thinkin' about!"_ Jonathan insisted, poking him all over.

" _No I don't, leave me alone!"_

"So you  _admit_  you're thinking about someone!" he crowed.

" _You're the_ worst, _get_ off _of me!"_

" _You gotta tell me, tell me Cam, I'm dying to know! Tell me tell me tell me!"_

"What's going on?" Emma was standing in the doorway now, looking at them with a fond but bemused smile. By now Jonathan had practically tackled Cameron. Cameron was currently in the process of shoving his face away, which left it looking smushed and stupid. Which Cameron was happy about. Because if he hadn't wanted to kill Jonathan  _before,_ he  _certainly_  did once he chirped this next bit of news.

"Cam's got a  _crush!"_  he declared.

Cameron was  _already_ cringing against the explosion he  _knew_ Jonathan had just set off.

"A  _crush?"_ Jonathan's smirk grew wider when he saw the expression of pure loathing on his little brother's face. Emma looked like someone might as well have told her they'd been living on Mars this entire time. "A  _crush!?"_ she demanded. Cameron was picturing all the ways he'd kill Jonathan in his sleep that night as she rushed into the room. Her eyes were practically blazing. Her smile barely fit on her face. "Oh my— you have a  _crush?_  Who is it? What's her name? Or— or,  _no—_  it doesn't have to be a girl, it  _doesn't_  have to be a girl, Cameron, not at all!" Cameron flopped back on the bed, scowling up at the ceiling and ignoring the fact that Jonathan was currently dying of laughter. "It can be a boy too, either one is fine, we don't care at all we just want you to be happy and if they make you happy that's all we need!

"Oh, what's their name? Are they nice? Do you have classes with them? Do they live around here?" She was starting to jump from one foot to the other. Cameron's scowl deepened.  _Why me? Just— like, in general, my entire life— why me?_ "We should have them over for dinner.  _Oh! Oh, we should have them over for dinner, they should come over for dinner I want to meet them!_ I want to meet them and say hi and I want to know what they look like— not that looks matter, but I want to know! Do you talk to them a lot? Do you have their phone number? Do they make you happy? Are you happy with them? That's the most important part— I want to be sure you're happy with them!" She gave a little shriek, and Cameron slowly closed his eyes, silently demanding God come down here and answer a few questions because he had some  _concerns_  about the cards he had dealt him.  _"Oh, Cameron has a crush!"_ she basically screamed.

Which  _sucked._ Because  _then…_

Oliver suddenly appeared in the doorway, too. Like he'd been conjured out of thin air. "What!?" Cameron closed his eyes and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like: 'I hate my life.' Oliver was beaming, too. It was impossible to tell who was more excited. "Cameron has a  _crush!?"_

"I hate you," he announced plainly, in a whisper. Jonathan just kept laughing.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

The phone barely rang twice before it was being picked up. Jonathan was just starting to reach for it when Cameron flew out of nowhere and practically shoved him out of the way. He stumbled, nearly smacking against the wall. "I got it!" Cameron yelped. By the time Jonathan was righting himself, his brother was already answering. "Hello?" He had that stupid look on his face, and it only got stupider when the person on the other end replied. He was radiating happiness and excitement. Jonathan began to smirk.  _"Hey!_  Hi…hi, no, I'm— just finished dinner."

Jonathan leaned in close, yelling towards the receiver:  _"Hi,_ Sam!"

Cameron glared at him, smacking him in the chest. Jonathan snickered, laughing louder and harder when Cameron kept smacking him all the way out of the kitchen. Then he ducked away again— Jonathan heard him murmuring into the phone like he didn't want to be heard. Jonathan glanced over his shoulder, still laughing a little. But when he turned away and started talking, his smile got softer. And when he heard Cameron's laugh echo down to him, it grew even bigger, too.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Cameron usually ate lunch alone in the library. He wasn't so lucky as to have the same hour as Jonathan. He was always by himself. But now he wasn't;  _Sam_  ate with him every day. They had a table in the corner and they spent the time laughing and talking. She would complain and rant about her teachers, about something that had happened in class, about how it sucked that they were still unpacking at home, and the second they were done she would have him over. He was always happy to listen.

He hadn't had a friend like this in years. After he'd come home and finished all the treatments there was on the face of the earth for a kid as messed up as he'd been, Jonathan had been his only friend. In Reykjavik, the story was known by  _everyone_  like it was the back of their hand. That was part of the reason they'd moved. None of the kids at school wanted to be near him. He remembered his first day of seventh grade when they'd been setting up his locker. It just so happened his locker neighbor was there, too. Cameron hadn't even had the chance to find out his name. The second the mother looked at the family, she'd known who they were. She'd grabbed her son's hand and rushed him away without a word. The locker had been empty all year, after— she'd forced the school to give her son another.

They'd hoped it'd be different here. It was  _slightly_ better. But…it wasn't, really. All it took was  _one_  person, and it spread like wildfire. Cameron didn't know who had figured it out, but eventually, they had. He'd started  _out_  this year with friends, but as the weeks went by, less and less of them spoke to him. Their conversations got more closed-off— polite. Eventually, they just stopped altogether.  _Nobody_  spoke to him, and when they did, there was always thinly-veiled awkwardness behind their words. Other kids…got a kick out of throwing it all back in his face. As if he wasn't fully aware of the fact that he had ruined his life.

Sometimes, he wanted to reply like that.  _Oh, wow— thanks, no, I_ totally _forgot I did all that, thanks for reminding me. Gee, I'd better write it down somewhere this time so it doesn't slip my mind. Silly me._

Sam wasn't like that, though. Not yet. She liked him— genuinely, actually liked him. She called him after school, she met him in the morning. She liked Jonathan, and Emma, and Oliver. She told him about her family and why they'd just moved here. She told him about the dreams she'd had the night before. He always told her he never remembered his. Which was a lie. But he opened up a little, too. He…omitted…things. But he talked about Jonathan— he'd said their father had been a drunk, and abusive. He said they'd moved here for Oliver's job. All true details…just leaving out  _so many others._

He was going to tell her. Soon. Eventually. He was just so happy to finally have someone to talk to again. Someone nice, and sweet. Someone he could feel close to, other than his brother. He didn't want to mess that up. He was terrified…of messing it up. He told himself he would…he was just hesitating.

He should have known that waiting would just make it worse.

He'd gotten his food and was heading for their table. But the second he saw who was  _also_  there, his heart was sinking. His stomach dropped and his mouth went dry when he saw that Nathan was across from her. He had no idea what they were talking about, but there was an uncomfortable look on her face. Cameron froze. His grip on his lunch tray got about ten times tighter. He choked back a swallow. For the longest time, he couldn't move. Until he started to force himself to take tiny steps towards them.

"…really not interested," she was saying. Her voice was kind, but there was a layer of awkwardness underneath it. "I'm sorry, I just…you seem like a nice guy, but I've been…I've had my eye on someone else, so…it wouldn't be fair, I'm really sorry." Her eyes caught on Cameron as he finally came close enough. She brightened, most of her awkwardness melting the second she saw him. "Cam!" He stayed nervous. Nathan looked between the two of them, his eyes slowly narrowing. Cameron felt sick when his hard glare settled on him. Samantha was oblivious. "Are you gonna sit?"

"I'm…um…"

" _This_ is who you wanna go out with?" Nathan demanded.  _"Him?"_

Cameron was starting to breathe faster.

She glared at him defensively. "You know what, I don't really want to talk about this anymore with you. You can go ahead and leave us alone." This was the closest he'd ever heard her to getting angry.

Nathan started to laugh. " _'Us?'"_ he repeated.  _"You_ really wanna date  _him?"_

She stood up. She grabbed Cameron's arm. "C'mon, we don't have to listen to him." She started to pull him away. For a second, as he followed, he was stupid enough to believe that this was the end of it. But he should have known it was too hopeful a thought.

Nathan stood up. "Hey." She kept walking.  _"Hey!"_  Cameron grimaced. But it was nothing compared to the reaction he had when all of a sudden, he yelled after them: "You know he was a  _prostitute,_  right!?" It was yelled  _loud,_  over the rest of the talking in the cafeteria. Two things happened next. The first: the rest of the talking in the room died immediately, as all eyes went to them. The second: Samantha stopped in her tracks. She didn't turn around, so Cameron couldn't see her response. Nathan kept going, more confident now that he knew he had everyone's attention.

"He's fucked like,  _a thousand_ people." She was starting to turn. Her face was crowding with confusion and growing embarrassment. Especially when she saw that everyone was staring. Cameron's vision was blurring, when he saw the shocked look on her face. "He made millions of dollars, and he spent it  _all_  on drugs. He does heroin and cocaine— he's adopted 'cause his  _real dad_ is in jail. And you wanna date him?" She looked at Nathan blankly, before she turned back to him. in the lunchroom was staring, a silent audience. Some awkward, some invested, some blank. None of them outraged.

"He's crawling with STDs— he has  _AIDS;_  you wanna date him?" Nathan demanded.

The silence was deafening. Her eyebrows pulled together more. She waited for Cameron to say something, but he was speechless. "…Cameron?" He flinched, ducking his head low. His shoulders hunched and he held the tray closer. "What is he…is that true?" she whispered.

It felt like years before he could reply. His voice was just a croak. "Yes…" She took a tiny step back, and his head snapped up. "I mean,  _no!"_ he burst. Now she was crying, too. And only crying harder with the fact everyone was watching.  _"No,_ it's— it's not, not…not  _all_ of that is true, it— listen, you have to listen to me, I was gonna tell you, I promise…" She took another step back when he took one closer. "I was going to tell you, I just— I was just  _scared,_  I wanted to— you were— I just— it's a long story, just let me  _explain—"_

She lifted a hand to stop him. He froze. Again, there was a too-long silence. He stared at her desperately,  _begging_  her to reconsider what he knew was coming. But it came anyway, in nothing but a whisper. "Just…no…" She trailed off, cringing and shaking her head. "Not now, I don't— …I have to go."

He tried to rush after her. "Sam, wait—  _stop!"_  he begged, his voice already broken. "Just let me—!"

"Leave me alone," she whispered, her voice harsh. His face barely had time to fall before she was running away. His heart dropped, the instant she did. She ducked out of the cafeteria and down the hall. He had no idea where she was going, but he knew it was probably just the farthest she could get from him. His throat burned, as he stared after. Tears ran down his face; he wasn't even trying to stop them.

Nathan walked slowly until he was in front of him. Cameron tried to glare at him, but he couldn't manage it. He was crying too hard— silently, but violently. He was burning head to toe with shame and anger and loathing and sorrow. He couldn't speak around any of it, even if he wanted to. All Nathan looked was satisfied. "Must be weird for you. To not get the girl," he mused. Before Cameron could even try to think of what to say back, he suddenly lashed out and flipped his tray up at him. The second he saw his arm shoot out, Cameron was flinching and trying to shield himself. But it all got everywhere anyway.

He looked down at himself, and the mess. Nathan snickered. "Guess it's because this time she wasn't paying you," he finished.

There was a small drone of laughter, at this. Cameron's eyes welled even more. His expression started to crumble, which only got more laughs, and that tore it. Hugging himself and ducking his head low, Cameron rushed out of the cafeteria, going the opposite direction Samantha had gone. He ran as fast as he could, trying to get as  _far_  away as he could. But despite the fact he ran, he could still hear the way the cafeteria exploded with laughter and conversation the second he left.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

"… _just ridiculous! I don't want to hear your excuses— don't even try to feed me that_ bullshit!" Oliver hissed into the phone.  _"You love to brag how your school is the best in the area— that you're a quality place to learn, and you have a no-tolerance policy for bullying, so_ please  _explain to me why my son came home today crying, covered in his own lunch!"_ Emma was stooped at the table, her head in her hands. Every so often she would sniff. Jonathan was more on Oliver's side. He was busy glaring a hole through the wall.

Oliver slammed a hand on the counter to cut the principal off.  _"You've been giving me excuses for the past ten minutes, I want_ answers!  _I want to know what you're going to do, I want to know this isn't going to happen again!"_ There was a brief pause. Oliver held the phone tighter and dropped his voice into even more severe a snarl.  _"Shut up— just_ shut up! _Do you even_ understand _what my son has been through? And now he has to deal with_ your  _students, just because you can't_ control them like you're supposed to!?  _You have to be_ fucking _kidding me!"_ Oliver  _never_ swore. But you'd better believe he was, now.

Jonathan ducked his head as Oliver kept hissing into the phone. It was likely he just wanted to scream. But he was trying not to let Cam hear him.  _"You listen to me, my son has come home from_ your  _school in tears too many times, and this was the last straw— there are going to be_ consequences _, and there are going to be_ improvements _, or I_ promise _you I will make sure everyone hears about everything you've let happen. What are you going to do about it?_ Huh!?  _Tell me what you're going to do!"_ Jonathan didn't wait for the answer. He pushed away from the table, and went down the hall.

Cameron's door was closed. He knocked and nobody answered. He opened the door and peered inside. His heart got about twenty times heavier when he saw Cameron was laying in his bed under the covers. He was curled up tight, like he was trying to disappear. "Cam?" There wasn't an answer, but he saw him curl tighter. He walked over to the bed and sat on its edge. He looked at his brother and the expression of apathy on his face. His eyes were puffy and red, but for right now he just seemed numb. He didn't look at Jonathan. It was quiet for a long time, before he murmured, "You okay, Cam?"

He was unmoving for a while. Until he gave a tiny fraction of a nod.

Jonathan's heart twisted. He glanced at his hands, clasped tight in his lap. Before he looked back at him and breathed: "Are all your cards on the table?"

It took a moment. But then it was happening— his expression was breaking. He squeezed his eyes shut and ducked away as a turtle would into its shell. He started crying, each sob getting louder with every gasp. Pretty soon he was in pieces— one horrible, sobbing mess. It reminded Jonathan of countless nights when they were kids, and he had been sobbed well into the night. It reminded him of the night he had found him chained to a bed and screaming and sobbing for any kind of help. Jonathan started crying too. It was silent, but the tears were absolutely soaking his face within seconds.

He shifted and crawled over his brother. He pushed him aside a little, so he could fit into his bed, too. At first, Cameron resisted him. But old habits die hard. It had been years since he had had to do this, but here he was now. He did it without thinking— it was muscle memory, as he reached out to gather him up in his arms. At first, Cameron did nothing. Until, with a tearful sniff and another sob, he reached out and hugged him back. Like hundreds of nights before this one, he clung to his brother and sobbed into his chest. Jonathan hugged him and rested his head on top of his, and started to rub his back. "You're alright, Cam…everything's gonna be alright…"

He gasped in hard. Jonathan's heart broke when he sobbed out: "I really liked her…"

"I know, Cam…" His little brother kept crying— he couldn't stop. Jonathan had to bite down on all his rage, all his fury. Right now, he had to be there for Cameron. And try not to cry just as hard as he was when he croaked: "I know…"

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Jonathan got up alone. He ate breakfast alone. And he drove to school alone.

Cameron was staying home.

Usually, he spent his morning with Cam. Not  _this_  one.

But that was okay.

Jonathan was storming through the halls. Every footstep was hard, and he wouldn't be surprised if they left charred prints on the ground. His hands were balled so hard into fists he was gouging into his own palms. He was practically shoving people aside. His eyes combed the crowd. It was a struggle just to see through the red haze of anger that was clouding his vision. It didn't take him very long to find him, though.

The group was loitering near the gym. They were talking and laughing. Nathan was laughing the hardest of them all. Just  _hearing_  him about tripled his rage. He was practically shaking by the time he reached them. Nathan caught his eye first. He started to straighten up. He opened his mouth, and Jonathan could already  _hear_ the  _smartass_ comment he was going to make. He didn't want to give him the chance. The  _second_  Nathan was locking eyes with him, Jonathan was already bringing his arm back.

He punched Nathan so fast and so hard he had no time to prepare. He knocked him flat on the ground. The others scattered immediately, their eyes huge with surprise. Nathan's nose was already bleeding. He began to push himself up, but Jonathan wasn't planning on letting him. He kicked out and caught him in the side.  _"You think it's funny!?"_ he practically screamed. He kicked him again. By now the entire hall was silent. Every student was staring with huge eyes and slack jaws.  _"You think it's funny to throw someone's life back in their face!? You think it's funny to remind someone of the worst thing that's ever happened to them!?_ Huh!?"

Nathan started to get up. Jonathan dropped down just to punch him again. He hit him in his nose again,  _truly_  not giving a shit whether or not he broke it. Hell, he  _wanted_ to break it.  _"Stay away from my brother, you asshole!"_ he screamed. He landed  _another_ punch. By now his friends were trying to pull him off but it wasn't doing any good. His pure anger was enough to give him the strength to latch on.  _"You're a fucking coward, you think you're so big putting someone down!? You have no idea what he's been through, he's a million times the person you'll ever be!"_

A teacher had finally rushed towards the sound of fighting. They were shocked at first, but now they were dragging Jonathan off of him. He still kicked out, like he wanted to throw himself back at him. Nathan was sitting up, blood streaking his face. He was glaring daggers at Jonathan but it was nothing compared to the scowl he was sending right back.  _"Fuck you, Nathan!"_ he screamed.  _"Grow the fuck up!"_ The teacher was holding him tighter, shaking him a little and snapping at him to calm down, but he didn't care. He was too furious. He just kept yelling, even as he was dragged down the hall.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

He stared down at his knuckles, swollen and bruised. "I don't care," he mumbled.

"You don't care?" Emma's voice was flat and angry. "Oh,  _okay_. You don't care. You hear that, Oliver? He doesn't care. Well, that's  _good_  you don't care! You can have an entire  _week_ of not caring! And you're  _lucky_ that that's all they gave you! Do you  _realize_  how serious this is!? You deserve  _way more_ than just a  _week of suspension._ I'm  _very_  disappointed in you, Jonathan. I cann _ot_ believe you did that!"

His voice stayed dull. "He hurt Cameron." That rage sparked back to life underneath his tone.

Emma hesitated. She looked at Oliver as if for help. But she jerked when she realized the look on his face was awkward. It was clear he was silently agreeing with Jonathan. Which made it hard because  _she_ agreed too, and part of her wanted to give him the high-five she knew Oliver wanted to give him (and most likely  _would,_ as soon as her back was to them both). But the  _other_  part of her knew she had to be a mom. "That does  _not_  give you permission to hurt him back. I  _expect_ better of you." He just glared off to the side.

She pursed her lips. She turned and smacked the back of Oliver's head.

" _Ow—_ yeah!" he blurted. "You— that was…" Jonathan looked at him very blandly as he pointed at him.  _"Yeah,"_ he repeated. "You— that… _no."_ He said it like he was talking to Daisy about getting into the trash. It was made worse when, fumbling a little, he just stated:  _"Bad._ Very… _you're bad. Very bad. No."_ Jonathan raised his eyebrows. Oliver hesitated before he looked at Emma just to see that she was practically killing him with her eyes. He weakened, looking from his wife to his son. Eventually, he just gave up and whispered, as if there was a chance of Jonathan not hearing, "Well, what do you want me to  _do?"_

She smacked the back of his head again.

They started to fall into a heated whispering fight. Jonathan's attention wandered. His eyes caught on the doorway of the kitchen, and he wilted when he saw Cameron standing there. He had no idea how long he'd been there. His brother was staring at his bruised and injured hand. His eyes lifted up to his face. His expression was worn and heavy and  _sad._ He looked exhausted. Jonathan started to wilt. He opened his mouth, trying to figure out what to say. But Cameron was already looking back down at the ground and turning. He was gone before Jonathan could even begin to know.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Cameron's hands shook. His stomach felt like a pretzel. He felt like he was going to be sick. He'd wanted to stay home another day, but he knew he couldn't. He had to face the music at  _some_  point. The bell hadn't rung yet, but it was bound to soon. His shoulders were hunched and his hood was drawn so it hid his face. He felt like everyone was staring. He tried not to care. He tried to focus.

He perked when he saw her. His heart tore and he hesitated, far too frightened for a moment to move. But when she opened her locker, he knew he had a little window of time. He weaved through all the other students. He stuffed his hands in his pockets to hide the fact they were trembling. But he couldn't hide the fact that his voice shook a little when he called out a hesitant: "Sam…?" She faltered, at his voice. She hesitated, staring into her locker. Before she just kept going, moving a little faster now. He weakened, and almost gave up. Before he tried: "Sam, I— can I explain about—?"

"You don't have to." Her voice was stiff. "It's fine."

She slammed her locker and turned to rush away. He stepped in her way. His voice was shaking even more. "Samantha, please…" She stopped short, and her expression weakened when she glanced up at him. He was sure his eyes were red from crying all night before. They were watering again, now. "Samantha, I don't—  _please_  just let me explain. I just want to…" She looked away, going red when she saw that people were staring at them and whispering. Every inch of her posture said she wanted to leave. He tried to rush it out before she could. "Samantha, I don't want to—"

"Get out of my way, Cameron," she practically pleaded. "Don't…make this harder than it  _has_  to be."

The words stabbed through him. She tried to step around him again, and again, he stepped with her. Desperation got this next thing to burst out of his mouth. "Samantha, I don't want  _that_ to define my entire  _life."_ She wilted with sorrow again. She glanced back at him, and this got him just the tiniest bit hopeful. "Just…let me explain, I…you liked me  _before_  you knew.  _Right?_  Can't you—?"

His hope died when she just ducked her head and hissed: "Cameron, you're  _embarrassing_ me.  _Again._ Leave me  _alone."_  His eyes widened. This time when she brushed past him, rushing so much she accidentally hit his shoulder with hers and nearly toppled him over, he couldn't stop her. He stood there numb in the middle of the hall. He could feel eyes on him. He could hear whispering. All the attention was on him. Again. As usual.

And yet at the same time, Cameron had never felt so alone.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Jonathan had promised Cameron that the second he got home from school, he was going to take him out somewhere. "We're gonna go out and we're gonna have fun, Cam," he'd said that morning, as Cameron got ready for school. He'd still been sitting at the kitchen table. He'd been effectively banned from doing  _anything at all_ by Emma as punishment during his almost-through suspension, yet when he'd said this she hadn't interjected at all. "The  _second_  you get home, we're gonna go to that mini golf place you love! We can…go to the skate park or the library! We can do  _whatever_  you want, Cam! Think about it today and when you come back you can decide." He'd smiled, even at Cameron's sullen glance.

He knew Jonathan would make him go, regardless. So he'd just muttered a tiny: "Okay."

But he wasn't ready to go home. He wanted a moment to wallow, because he knew the  _second_  he got home everyone would be  _tripping over themselves_  to make him feel better. Gym was his last hour, so it was easy to just hang back in the locker room. Everyone else was quick to congregate near the door for the bell. He stayed in the bathroom stall that he always changed by himself in. He was sitting with his back to it. His legs were drawn up to his chest and his head was on his knees. Tears ran down his cheeks and every so often he would sniff. It was a small noise, but it echoed in the silence. He felt alone. He felt sad.

He felt  _stuck_. Like it didn't matter what he did. No matter what he did, he would always be… _that._

He wanted to smack himself. He wanted to go back in time and grab that nine-year-old and  _shake_  them as hard as he could. He wanted to scream at them, he wanted to yell, he wanted to demand why they were so  _stupid_ , why they were such an  _idiot_. He wanted to do what Jonathan had done to him back then but  _worse,_ just to  _make himself_ understand. But…he knew the answer he would get. He knew the tearful look he would be given, the meek response he would give, the indoctrinated reply. He knew he wouldn't listen.

' _You can't blame yourself.'_ Maria's voice rang in the back of his head and he cringed against the memory of her.  _'You made a mistake. You can admit it. But do not admonish it. You only have one_ you,  _Cameron. You have to be kind to them. To_ every _version of them. If you do not forgive that version of yourself, whether it be ten years ago or two minutes ago, you will not be able to move on. If you do not let that version of yourself learn and heal, then_ you _won't ever be able to either.'_ He missed her. He wanted to talk to her again. He wanted to go back  _there_ , where nobody judged anybody because they were all in silent agreement that everyone was just as  _fucked up_  as their neighbor. Where nobody could look down on you, because they were right down there  _with_  you.

That was the only part of Iceland he missed. And right now, he was  _aching_  for it.

He pushed his sleeve back, to look at his watch and check the time. His eyes caught on his wrists. His stomach clenched as he saw the scars that were wrapped there. Still just as noticeable. Bracelets he could never take off. He shook his head and tore his eyes away. He realized it was almost three. He'd been here longer than he'd thought. If he was any later, they would start worrying even more, and that was the  _last_  thing he needed. He got up and left the stall, going to the sink. He splashed cold water on his face. It was still red from all his crying. He hoped by the time he got home it'd be relatively okay again.

He sighed, going to his gym locker for his bag. He was just closing it when a voice made him stop. "It wasn't what  _I_ did. You know that…right?" He stiffened and turned, his heart leaping up to lodge in his throat. Nathan was there, his arms crossed over his chest. His friends were clustered around him. Cameron's stomach clenched when he realized that they were more or less forming a semi-circle around him to fence him back against the lockers. His grip on his bag tightened. He said nothing. Nathan shrugged. "I didn't do anything," he insisted. "All I told her was the  _truth._   _You_ were the one that was lying to her."

He pressed his back flat to the lockers. Nathan's face was bruised. Three whole days had passed since the incident with him and Jonathan. He hadn't said a  _word_ to Cameron. Hadn't even glanced at him. Now, he was glaring at him with enough poison to kill. "I didn't  _make_  her leave— she left because she didn't want to stay with a  _slut_ like you." He swallowed hard, his vision smearing immediately. He was forcing himself not to blink, to try and keep the tears back.

Nathan smirked. "How's it  _work,_ anyway?" he mused. "Do you charge by the hour? Or is it by the blowjob?" Cameron felt a stab of horror when his lower lip started to tremble. "What do you charge? Twenty bucks? Can't be worth more than  _thirty."_ Nathan's eyes narrowed a little bit.  _"Huh?"_ he prompted. "You gonna  _say_ something!?" When there was still nothing, Nathan shoved him. He was already flush against the lockers, but this shoved his head back, too.

"You're such a little  _bitch—_ whining to your mom and dad enough to get the  _school_ to call my house. I didn't even  _do anything_ to you. If it wasn't for your stupid brother flipping his  _shit_ , I could have gotten detention." He took a step closer, raising his eyebrows expectantly. Cameron didn't like the way he was looking at him. The pit in his stomach was opening more. His eyes flickered to the side, to a tiny gap between one of his friends and the wall. He hesitated, debating. But screwed up his courage and tried to sprint through it. He took off, desperately trying to break out of the corner they'd backed him up against.

He almost made it, but they grabbed his arms before he could. He was yanked back— thrown against the lockers with a slam that hit his head again. He tried to move, but they were pinning him there, now. His fear was starting to mount and show more on his face. Nathan's smirk grew as he took slow, teasing steps towards him. "Where do you think you're going?" he demanded. "We're just getting to know each other! Isn't that what you wanted? Me to be  _nicer?_ It's what I got  _lectured for,_ for hours! So  _c'mon!"_  He shoved him again. "Let's  _talk_. Was I right when I said you've slept with a thousand people? Or is the number  _higher?"_

He squeezed his eyes shut. "Let me go," he implored under his breath. His words shook.

"How many of them were  _guys?"_ he pressed. Cameron pulled again, pointlessly. A tear fell down his face and he burned with shame when the others laughed at the sight. Nathan was spurred on by them. "How'd your dad even  _meet_ them— did he really  _not_ care about you enough that he was willing to just  _sell_ you over and over again? And you  _let him?_ It didn't bother you that he literally didn't give a  _shit_ about you?"

" _Stop."_ He tried to snap this, but it came out as more of a sob.

"Maybe your dad was into it, too," he snickered. Cameron's expression started to crumble even more. This was enough to put him over the edge; all his tears were falling, now. Nathan leaned even closer. "Did I hit a nerve?" he demanded. Cameron just flinched and sniffed. "Oh,  _man,_ maybe he  _was._ Maybe he was  _really_ into it…you didn't make  _him_  pay, though, right?" He jerked his right arm like he wanted to punch him, but he was held back. "Was there a family discount? Or was the  _father-son bonding_ enough, for you?"

"You're disgusting," Cameron growled through his teeth.

" _I'm_ disgusting? _"_ He grabbed the collar of his shirt. The others let go of his arms, just so he could bring him closer and slam him back into the wall. He yelped, his head ringing with pain.  _"I'm_ not the one who would  _fuck_ anyone that's willing to give them more than ten bucks. You walk around here like you belong— you  _don't._ You're  _gross,_ and  _everyone in this school hates you. Nobody_ wants you here. Nobody wanted you in your other  _stupid_ country, and nobody wants you  _here,_ either."

This absolutely slammed into him. Horrible sorrow was choking his throat, but at this, his chest was ripping with pain. He couldn't even breathe. It hurt so much he was winded, but he found himself moving before he even really knew it. He lashed out since his arms were free, trying to hit him wherever he could. He felt his fists find home a couple of times, but then his arms were being grabbed again. Nathan was holding his face in his hands, stumbling a little. Cameron was satisfied to see that his nose was bleeding again.

But the satisfaction was fast to leave. He looked back up, his eyes blazing with fury. "You stupid  _faggot!"_ He grabbed his collar again, gnashing his teeth together. Cameron tried to brace himself, but it still knocked the wind out of him when Nathan punched him as hard as he could. He caught his eye. The only reason Cameron wasn't thrown with the force was because the others were still holding him. The second he straightened, too, he was punching him again. A choke died in his throat. He'd caught his mouth this time, and already, he tasted the metallic tang of blood.

Before he could do anything, they were all yanking him. Cameron staggered, trying to yell out for help. But they covered his mouth and dragged him into the stall he had just left. He was trying to scream out anyway, but the hands were quickly removed and another punch forced him into dazed silence. Someone kicked the back of his legs and his knees made painful contact with the ground. Nathan lashed out and grabbed a fistful of his hair. Cameron barely had time to realize what was happening, it was all going so fast. But then he did. He tried to shake his head and pull away. Panic slammed into him; he didn't even have time to take in a real gasp of air before he was being shoved down.

His head was forced into the toilet and held underwater. Immediately, he was choking. He thrashed to try and get out in any way he could, but he was being held down. Aided by fear, his lungs were already shrieking for air— his chest was already burning like someone had lit it on fire. The more he struggled, the worse he needed to breathe. He choked and spluttered and twisted, but it was all for nothing. He was getting dizzy— he was drowning. They were  _drowning_ him! He was beginning to lose consciousness. His hands were going numb, his legs were kicking out less. He was getting weaker.

Nathan was holding him under the water; one of his friends reached out to flush it. For a split second, Cameron was relieved. He had the tiniest of seconds to gasp in actual oxygen. But not a second after, was water was flooding into his mouth. His brief respite was stolen and replaced with choking and gagging. He spluttered and started to try and fight again. Every inhale he could get in was punctured with sobs or gags. They refused to let up. No matter how much he screamed, no matter how much he tried to get free, they held him under for ages, and only let up long enough to flush again. He would be able to breathe again for a moment, but then water was filling his nose, his mouth— and he was drowning again.

It went on for  _ages._   _Much_  longer than a couple of minutes. It was too much. He'd accidentally breathed in too much water— he wasn't getting air. Eventually, he was losing his grip. He was going fuzzy. He went limp and started to slouch to the side. His face started to relax and his jaw went slacker, letting in even more water. He was just starting to lose consciousness when all of a sudden he was yanked back by his hair. He was pulled up with a choking gasp. Now that he was up, the water was drenching his shirt, too. Nathan threw him to the ground as hard as he could. He was too busy coughing and choking to catch himself. It was the fourth time he'd hit his head but he was so numb he didn't even react.

"Look at that," Nathan snickered. Every breath he managed without coughing was raspy and congested. He started to try and push himself up. At least to all fours. Nathan grabbed the back of his shirt and shouldered open the stall door. With the help of his friends, he literally threw him out of it. This earned the  _fifth_  slam to his head. His arms and legs were numb. Nathan's smirk was smug as he towered over him. "Now you're as disgusting on the  _outside_  as you are on the  _inside."_  All his friends started cracking up at this. Cameron's vision was blurry when he opened his eyes but it didn't help that he was crying.

"Please— leave me alone…!" After so much choking, his voice barely scratched its way out.

Nathan crouched low.  _"You're_ the one who won't leave us alone.  _Nobody_ wants you here." He said this slowly, and purposefully. "Nobody wants you at  _all._ Your own  _dad_ didn't want you." Cameron was starting to curl away. Nathan stood again, his eyes flashing. "So why don't you do everyone a favor and just  _leave?"_ He thought that would be the end of it. They'd just leave him sopping wet and humiliated on the bathroom floor. In his judgment, it was more than punishment enough.

No sooner did the thought occur, did the first kick come.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

He'd been pacing. Cameron was late. Cameron was  _never_ late. Emma had rubbed off on them too much for  _either of them_ to ever be late for anything. But it was almost  _four._ School let out at 2:30. Where  _was_ he? Jonathan was sitting at the kitchen table, bouncing his leg and chewing on his nails. Emma was sitting beside him, staring at the clock. They'd promised each other that if it hit four and he still wasn't home, they'd go out and look for him. Cameron was sensitive about being babied— Jonathan and Emma were the main culprits when it  _came_ to that. They were trying their best to exercise caution.

Fifteen more minutes. Fifteen more minutes, and they would be running for the door.

Neither of them said anything. Ten more minutes passed in silence. Until a tiny click made them snap up. A huge smile was spreading over both their faces when they heard the door open. Jonathan was leaping to his feet first. "Cam!" He rushed out to meet him. "Finally! I thought you'd never get back! What, you trying to avoid getting  _destroyed_ at mini golf!? 'Cause let me tell you, it's not gonna—!" He froze. His eyes went huge. His stomach dropped. Emma had headed after him. When she saw, she screamed.

Cameron was leaning all his weight against the wall. He couldn't support himself. His entire shirt was wet. His hair was damp. And his face was  _covered_  in blood. His lip was split wide open. One eye was swelled shut. There was a gash in his cheek, and as he took in shaky, audible breaths, blood leaked out of his mouth. He was swaying, barely able to stand. Looking at him, Jonathan froze. He was so shocked, he couldn't move. But Emma's scream helped snap him out of it.

" _Cameron!"_ he cried out, running for him.

He threw out his arms, like he'd done nearly every morning Cameron had come home when they were little.

And, like nearly every morning Cameron had come home when they were little, the instant Jonathan reached him and the safety net of his arms was there, Cameron collapsed.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

"We know who it was, we know  _exactly_ who it was!"

"He told us it  _wasn't_ him."

"He's lying! He's  _lying,_ Emma, and you  _know_ he is!"

"I  _know!_ I  _do_ know! But…until he tells us, there's nothing we can do."

"Like hell, there isn't! I'm going to the police, I'm getting a lawyer."

"Oliver…"

" _That's our son!"_ This whisper broke in half like a toothpick. "That's our  _son!_ And he was  _hurt!"_

She didn't reply. She was crying too hard to.

They'd stepped away to talk, but there wasn't a point. He could hear them anyway. They  _both_  could. He twisted back around, his stare heavy when it rested once more on Cameron. His brother was laying in the hospital bed. They were curtained from the rest of the emergency room, but the noise was still leaking through. Mostly because there was no other noise to hear. Cameron was silent like he'd been this entire time. His head was slack on the pillow, fallen towards Jonathan. But his eyes – or his  _eye,_ considering the other was swollen shut – was half-lidded and dull. He looked like he was five seconds from sleep.

Jonathan's voice was scratchy with tears when he murmured: "Cam…you gotta tell them."

It took a moment. But Cameron shook his head just a fraction.

"Cameron… _please,"_ he begged. "Just  _tell_ them. Why won't you tell them?"

Cameron sniffed. His apathy broke. His expression crumbled. His shoulders started to shake, and he began to break down. His throat was raw…every sob was a squeaking or choking noise. It sounded horrible. He reached up to wipe at his face as his tears began to fall. Jonathan's eyes caught on his scarred wrist, and his stomach clenched. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, forcing him to stop and count to ten. He said nothing. Silent and sorrowful, he simply reached out and grabbed his brother's hand.

He brought it back down to the bed and held it. He tried to keep his tears at bay.

But it was so hard when Cameron practically clung back to him for dear life.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

He rushed over, jumping so when he landed on the couch, they both bounced a little. "Cam!" he chirped. His brother's eyes flickered over to him. He was resting his head on the pillow. Most of his bruising was still there. He still had the butterfly bandage on his cheek. His lip still bore a thin red line where it had been split. The look of sorrowful apathy that he'd had in the emergency room was still there, too. He met Jonathan's grin with absolutely nothing. "I was thinking we could go get ice cream!" he suggested anyway.

His eyes went back to the TV. His reply was just a mumble. "No thanks…"

Jonathan weakened. But still tried, after a second: "We could get your favorite…?"

He just shook his head.

Jonathan hesitated. He inched out to nudge him gently with his foot. "Cam. You okay?"

This time, all he got was a nod.

He wilted. Debated for a long time. Before he murmured: "Cards on the table?"

Cameron crossed his arms over his chest and shifted, pushing himself back more into the couch. He didn't look at him, but Jonathan saw the way his expression changed. All he got back in response was a muttered: "Leave me alone, Jonathan." The four words hurt. His stomach dropped, his face fell. Cameron wasn't looking away from the TV. Jonathan waited, just in case. But no. He may as well be invisible.

Sitting there staring at Cameron sorrowfully, he certainly  _felt_ that way.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

It was a Friday. He'd missed the entire week of school, just like he'd missed last week; Emma had reluctantly prompted him to return today so that if it didn't go well, he would have the weekend. Cameron had agreed. What he didn't know, was that Jonathan had strict orders— orders that he would have carried out anyway, even if Emma hadn't given them. He was going to go out of his way and make sure he saw Cameron  _every_  passing period. He was going to  _sprint_ to the gym after seventh hour, and walk with Cameron to the car. He was told to protect his brother. He was already planning on doing so. Fiercely.

It had taken everything in him not to  _kill_ Nathan. Cameron had refused to say who it was. The school was 'looking into it.' But given that they'd said that almost two weeks ago and nothing had happened so far was pretty telling. There was no evidence that it had been Nathan, but he  _knew._ He knew in the smug grin he'd shot him when he'd noticed Jonathan was glowering at him from across the room, once his suspension was over. In the way he practically  _taunted_ him to do something when he knew he couldn't.

All he wanted to do was rip the guy limb from limb. But he couldn't touch him. Not yet, anyway.

Going into today, Jonathan was more than on-edge. He was tense, and already wary of leaving Cameron for more than five seconds. But he was trying to put on Emma's fake optimism. Oliver was, too.

Cameron got up late. When he sat down, he aimed his eyes on the table and didn't make a move for his breakfast— Emma had made him waffles again. He looked pale and sick. Jonathan wondered if he slept at all. "Hey, Cam, before the bell rings, I'm gonna take you up to my science class," he offered. He reached out and started fixing his hair. It didn't even look like he'd  _brushed_  it. "We're finishing a murder mystery unit. There's a crime scene and everything. It's really cool, I think you'd like it."

He didn't even glance at him. His eyebrows drew even tighter together.

"Cam…" Oliver's voice was soft as down. Cameron's shoulders hunched but he stayed ducked. There was unspeakable anger in the very back of the man's stare. None of it was for Cameron though— it was for the people that had made him this way. Probably not even just for the kids at school. For all the adults…for Sebastian…for  _everyone._  "Cam…it'll be okay. It's just…it's just until the end of the semester. Only four days. All you have left are finals. All the teachers know to keep an eye on you. Once the semester ends, we're finding a different school— it's  _almost_ over. I don't care if it's a farther drive, I don't care if it's five hours away, we're going to find a different school. A  _better_ one. There's only one more week, after this one."

It was like Cam's mouth was sewn shut.

The rest of breakfast passed in silence. When it got to be time to go, Jonathan stood. He started for the door but stopped when he didn't feel the familiar presence of his brother. He turned and saw he hadn't gotten up. That he hadn't even  _looked_ up, yet. He was staring down still, but when he felt all eyes go to him, Cameron's lips started to shake, and his eyes flooded with tears again. Finally, he spoke. His inhale was punctured, and held the threat of a sob. His voice was thick when he whispered: "I don't…wanna go…"

Emma looked like she was in horrible pain. "Cam…Cam, sweetie, you…your finals…"

He gasped, so loud Jonathan almost jumped. "I don't want to go…" It was still barely audible. Like he was whispering because he was afraid somebody would hear him. "I don't wanna go, I don't want to— I can't…" He buried his face in his hands. "Please don't make me go, I can't go, I can't do it I'm too scared…"

Jonathan stared at his brother mournfully, remembering another time he had cried, like this. Another time he had been begging to stay home. It had been on the phone, then, but it was just as horrible now. Sebastian had snapped at him and yelled at him for asking something so stupid. For behaving childishly. He'd refused and snapped at him to deal with it. This time, Oliver was scooting his chair close, so he could put his arm around his shoulders and pull him in for a hug. Cameron started crying harder but turned so his face was buried away. He  _kept_ crying, even when Oliver soothed him, murmuring that of course, he didn't have to go back, that they would call the school and figure something out.

This time, he had a dad that supported him. Yet Cameron still cried just as hard.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

"Cam…?"

He didn't stir. He was curled up under his blankets like he'd been all day. He hadn't gotten up once. Now it was almost seven. He closed his eyes, hoping silently that he would leave. But Jonathan just took a couple of steps into the room. It had been the first day of finals, today. He'd came in to say hi when he'd gotten home, but Cameron had been just as responsive. He hated the worry and pity in his eyes. "Cam, Mom made dinner…she made your favorite."

He just pulled his blanket up more so it was covering his nose.

"Are you gonna come?" Jonathan breathed reluctantly.

"Not hungry," he whispered back. It was amazing his brother heard, with how muffled it was.

"C'mon, Cam…we haven't seen you all day. Just come out and have a  _little_  something…"

He closed his eyes. This time he  _kept_  them closed. He turned, putting his back to Jonathan. Silence followed the clear rejection. But eventually, Cameron listened to the sound of his footsteps fade. And even though it was exactly what he'd wanted, tears started to rush down his face anyway.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

_Nobody wants you here._

_Did he really not care about you enough that he was willing to just_ sell _you over and over again?_

 _Cameron, I said_ stop it!  _I_ cannot _believe you are doing this— hang up the phone right now!_

 _Stop_ crying,  _you're acting like a toddler!_

 _You're_ disappointing  _me today, Cameron._

 _Your own_ dad  _didn't want you._

He stared at the ceiling, tears streaming down his face. He didn't gasp or sob. By now his throat hurt too much for that. He was just silently crying as his thoughts overgrew and worsened. He wiped his eyes, which hurt and stung from all the tears he'd cried  _already._ He was exhausted, but he couldn't sleep. He wanted to scream but he didn't have the energy. He didn't have the energy for  _anything,_ anymore.

He was so busy crying he didn't hear the door open. But he  _did_ hear a familiar tinkling of a collar— he only had a second, before Daisy was leaping into his bed. He squeaked, especially when she set to work licking his face. Almost as though she was brushing away his tears, but he knew she would do this regardless of whether or not his face tasted like salt. Against himself, he cracked the tiniest smile as he tried to push her off. At least so she wasn't standing on his face. When he did, his eyes caught on Jonathan.

It was almost two in the morning, but he was standing at his bedside. Cameron faltered; he was very well aware of the fact that his eyes would be bright red and his face would be too. There was no hope of hiding the fact he'd been crying. Jonathan didn't weaken, though. He just said very bluntly: "Move over." At first, he was confused. But he leaned down and nudged him. Cameron reluctantly scooted, and he wasted no time before cramming himself into the bed. It wasn't the best fit, especially with Daisy. But it worked.

However, the second he found a place that was halfway decent, Cameron was wilting. "You don't have to do this…" He was almost surprised himself by how hoarse his voice was. How congested, too.

Jonathan turned on his side. Against his brother's misery, he just smiled. "I know," he said, simply.

Cameron weakened. Jonathan just reached out and hugged him. His eyes started welling up all over again as he reluctantly shifted closer. By the time he was hugging him back, he was crying again. Jonathan was practiced at this— at holding him and soothing him. Cameron fit against him and his cries got muffled into his shirt, instead. Jonathan just stared over his head and rubbed his back.

Little by little bit, Cameron was relaxing. His sobs turned into hiccups which turned into sniffles, which eventually turned into snoring. Jonathan was overcome with relief when he realized his brother was finally sleeping. Going by the bags under his eyes, he'd assume it had been a while. He prayed silently that he would  _stay_  asleep since he was here. He would hold him and he would comfort him. He would offer him the smallest break, in a world that seemed to always do its best to assure he would never get one.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Summer offered a chance to rewind. A chance to get better.

Oliver was looking into transferring them for their last two years of high school. He was researching every school within a hundred miles, going through them with the finest comb. He was still trying to get repercussions on their last school, too. Jonathan was just glad that he had been able to pull some strings about Cameron's finals. He hadn't failed sophomore year; that was all that was important. Now, Jonathan could pour his every effort into concentrating on him. Into trying to make him happy again.

But Cameron was a springboard. Nothing stuck. He would offer they get ice cream and he would murmur he wasn't hungry. He'd challenge him to mini golf, and he would say he's too tired. He'd offer to go to the store with him and pick out whatever he wanted, and Cameron would mumble that it was alright— they didn't have to. Jonathan would have to drag him outside, and whenever he did, Cameron would just stare off into space. He was distracted, he was quiet. He was like he was when they were kids. After his rehabilitation, he had been so much better— he'd been his old self. School was  _always_  hard with the other kids. High school, it got harder, and it'd been more noticeable. But it had  _never_  gotten like this.

Even when most of his injuries were gone, he was morose and upset. He stayed up all night and slept all day. He picked at his food and mumbled only when he was spoken to. Everyone was worried. All three of them shared the same look when Cameron excused himself from dinner after only taking a couple of bites. Or when he was still in bed and it was three in the afternoon.

Jonathan caught Emma reading another book.  _The A-Z of Therapeutic Parenting._ She was calling around trying to find the best therapist she could before she approached the topic with Cameron. He'd even walked in once when she was doing the dishes just in time to see her gathering all the knives into a box she was hiding in the tallest cabinet.  _That_ had worried him.  _That_  had pushed him over the edge.

Nearly.

What happened  _next_ was what had finally pushed him over the edge.

It's what had finally pushed them  _all_ off the edge.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

He'd actually managed to convince Cameron to eat breakfast, that morning. He'd been proud of himself, at first. At first, it had seemed like a victory, when his brother finally caved and got out of bed. Had he gone into the kitchen first, he would have known better. Had he gone into the kitchen first, and realized what was happening…maybe things would have gone differently. But they hadn't. Jonathan went straight from his room to Cameron's. He'd had no idea what was waiting for them.

He'd been overjoyed, at first. But later, he would come to regret the fact he had gotten Cam up.

For  _years_ afterward, he would blame  _himself_  for everything that happened after.

They heard the whispering when they were coming down the hall. On instinct, Jonathan stopped. Cameron did, too. They lingered together for a second; even Cameron's apathy was melted away and replaced by confusion. It was the kind of whispering that was more like quiet screaming. The kind of whispering that was too panicked and upset to be as quiet as they wanted to actually be. They heard Emma's voice first. Jonathan's heart dropped when he realized she was crying. A  _lot._ "I can't believe this…not  _now,_ why  _now!?"_ At first, he thought she was talking about Cameron. But then Oliver replied.

"We can't tell them," he whispered. "We  _can't._ Not yet."

"They'll find out somewhere else! It should come from us!" Emma sobbed.

Oliver hesitated. His voice was more choked. "Cam can't handle it. He won't be able to handle it."

Cameron's eyes widened. Jonathan's did, too, when he looked at him.

"I  _know,"_ Emma cried. "But what else are we supposed to do!?"

There was a pause, before: "Nothing." There was a faint protest from Emma, but he was rushing on. "We do nothing for right now. They're always home— it's not like they have school. And it's not like anyone would even tell them in the first place, probably; this isn't usually news that  _goes_ far. I don't…I hate lying to them, but it's the only way. Cameron can't take it and it's not fair to put it all on Jonathan alone." He shook his head. "No. Nothing…we do nothing."

"That's not fair, either…"

"It's what's best for both of them. We'll tell them later, but—"

"Tell us what?" Jonathan demanded. Emma and Oliver whirled around, their eyes wide with surprise and guilt when they realized the two of them were standing in the doorway of the kitchen, now. The two were staring at them intently— Jonathan's eyes a little narrowed, and Cameron's already-reddened ones filled with hurt confusion. That only got worse when they met their stricken expressions.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Cameron stared at his lap. The expression on his face was unreadable. Jonathan's was much more open. There was no sorrow on his face. Just anger. He looked  _furious_ , sitting with his hands curled into fists. His voice was tight with barely-held-in rage.  _"What?"_ he hissed. Oliver weakened but held his gaze. Emma was looking at Cameron, anxiety coming off of her in waves. He still wasn't reacting. Right now, it was only Jonathan.  _"How?"_ he demanded. Oliver winced. He just repeated himself.  _"How did he do it?"_

Oliver took in a slow breath. "Jonathan, that's…not really—"

" _I wanna know how he did it!"_

"That's not important, what's important is that you two know—"

"How did he do it?" It was only a whisper. Oliver's head snapped back Cameron the instant he spoke, though. His stare remained apathetic— his voice was detached. He didn't look up.

There was a  _long_ period of silence. Oliver glanced at Emma, but she was just as at a loss. He looked back and hesitated. But eventually, he took in a slow breath, and answered, leaving as much detail out at possible. He repeated back the information he'd been told, just as robotically as it had been given to him. "He…hung himself. He tied his bedsheets together. He must have…done it late last night, from what they…could tell. They found him this morning…in his cell."

For a moment there was nothing. The teenagers digested the news. Their reactions were opposite. Cameron's eyebrows drew more together. He hunched over, his shoulders beginning to curl inward. Jonathan, on the other hand, was rocketing up to his feet. "That's  _bullshit!"_ he screamed. Emma flinched. Oliver tried not to do the same, but he did wince. Jonathan's eyes were beginning to water and shine…but it was only because he was so angry. "That's not  _fair!_ That's not how it— he was supposed to  _pay!_ He was supposed to  _pay_ for what he did to Cameron! He was supposed to  _rot!_  It's not fair!"

Emma was staring at Cameron, now. Her anxiety was only mounting. "Cam…?" she prompted.

Cameron's eyes were filled with tears. His lips were starting to shake. So were his hands. His breathing was becoming just a bit more audible. Bit by bit, he was unraveling. "He—" His voice was just a squeak. Emma moved to sit by him. She put her arms around him, but he didn't respond to her comfort. He blinked, and his tears started to run down his cheeks. "He… _killed_  himself?" he croaked.

She hugged him tighter. "I'm sorry, sweetie…" she murmured.

" _He's_ the one that was supposed to be sorry!" Jonathan yelled. Hatred and anger were coming off him in waves. "He's the one that was supposed to  _stay there_ for the rest of his life! It's only been  _four years! Four!_ And he checks out  _early!?_ That's not fair!" Cameron held his head in his hands, starting to cry. Jonathan was starting to cry just as much. But still, they were for polar opposite reasons.  _"He made our lives hell and the second he gets the tiniest taste of it himself, he cheats his way out!"_

"Jonathan…" Oliver murmured.

" _He couldn't handle it! He couldn't handle how horrible a person he was— he_ knew  _how horrible he was, he_ knew  _how disgusting he was, that the entire world hated him! He deserved to live with all of that!"_

"Jonathan."

" _He deserved to live the rest of his miserable life telling himself he was a piece of shit—_ that  _was the point! That was the_ entire _point! And he couldn't last four_ fucking years!"

" _Jonathan!"_

He jerked, startled at the sudden, yell. He was taken aback, but Oliver wasn't even looking at him. The instant he was following his gaze, a cold wave of realization washed over him. Cameron was hunched over; Emma was sitting with her arms wrapped around him in a tight hug. Her expression was pained, as she held him and rocked him just a little. His brother was sobbing— brokenhearted, keening sobs, that had only gotten worse the longer Jonathan had yelled. Now that he was wailing. Gasping and choking, as his shoulders heaved with every hiccupping breath in.

Once Jonathan's shock wore off, all that was left was hollow sorrow and hopelessness. As the news settled firmly into reality: that the man that should have been their father had committed suicide in his prison cell sometime last night. As his own chest burned with unbearable rage and yet was empty at the same time, too. As he watched Emma try and hold Cameron together.

As he listened to his brother's sobbing, numbed by how horrible and sorrowful it was.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Cameron was in the same exact spot. He was sitting on the far upper corner of his bed, his knees drawn up to his chest and his back against the wall. He was hugging his stuffed bear to his chest— the one that had been given to him in the hospital. His head was resting on it and his eyes – irritated from crying and dulled over with exhaustion – were half-lidded. Seeing him, Jonathan's chest ripped with worry. When they were littler, Cameron had clung to that bear almost every day. It had been a part of him, practically. Especially whenever Jonathan couldn't be by him, he would be clinging to it like it was made of glue.

He took it to school, in his backpack. He took it when he and Emma went out to run errands and Jonathan couldn't come along. Even when it was in the washing machine, for a while he would always linger near the laundry room, anxiously waiting for it to be done. Every single night, without fail, he would sleep with it. Every trip they took, every time they traveled, it had to come along. Obviously the older he got the less he needed it as a crutch. Now, it just kept its spot on his bed. Seeing him curled up with it now was unnerving. It worried him. Especially with how tight he was holding it.

"Cam?" His brother didn't react. Jonathan hesitated before he walked in. "Cam…you wanna talk?" It was almost nine at night. After being told the news, Cameron had gone right back to his room and shut the door. He hadn't moved all day. Between the three of them, they'd checked on him at least once every thirty minutes. If he noticed their lingering, he said nothing. He didn't even sob anymore. He was just sitting there, silent tears streaming down his face. The only sound was an occasional sniffle.

He hadn't come to lunch or dinner. He hadn't had breakfast. Jonathan was holding a bowl of spaghetti— one of his favorites. They were  _always_ eating his favorites now, in the vain hope that he would crack and sit down to have some. "I brought you some dinner…?" Cameron's eyes flickered to the plate, but they were fast to look away again. Jonathan had to admit, it wasn't all that appetizing, even to him. He felt sick to his stomach…though he knew his sick and Cameron's sick weren't the same at all.

He took a seat on the bed. He glanced at him before he prompted: "Do you wanna talk about it?"

At first, all there was, was silence. Jonathan was sure that his brother would ignore him. When, eventually, his voice croaked into life. "I never got to say goodbye…I never got to say goodbye  _ever_ …" Jonathan frowned. He looked back down at the plate of food, taking in a slow breath. He said nothing, knowing that if he spoke right away he might say something he would regret. Cameron's voice just got more choked. "I never visited him…I never even answered when he called…"

"You didn't owe him that. You didn't have to see him— he wasn't  _allowed_ to call." He leaned a little closer. "Cam…Cam, I  _know_ it's not what you wanna hear, but he was a  _horrible person._ I'm not even…" He hesitated, but his certainty made him shake his head and go on. "I'm not even surprised he killed himself." Cameron shut his eyes, tears making more tracks on his face. A mournful noise died in the back of his throat. "He did awful things, Cameron. It was bound to happen eventually. We shouldn't feel  _bad_  about it, though. We didn't do anything." Cameron was still crying. Jonathan just leaned closer, certainty cementing his words. "Cameron, we did  _nothing wrong. Ever._ We  _still_ haven't done anything wrong."

"He didn't deserve to die that way, though," he choked. "Probably— …lonely, and upset, and— like he didn't have anyone—"

"He did it  _all_ to himself," Jonathan insisted. "He  _did_ deserve to feel that way—"

"Don't  _say_ that!" Cameron snapped. His eyes opened only so he could fix his brother with a glare. "Don't  _say_ that— nobody deserves to feel that way!  _Ever!_ You're not— you're not being  _fair!_ You make it sounds like there were  _no_ happy times!" Jonathan jerked. "You make it sound like our entire lives were horrible and we were  _never_ happy, but we  _were!_ We were happy with him, sometimes— there were moments where we were  _happy,_ and you  _always_ make it seem like there weren't! You  _always_ wanna whine and  _complain,"_ Jonathan jerked again harsher this time, "but it's not  _true,_ you're just  _mad!_ He  _didn't_ deserve to kill himself, why would you even  _say that!?"_

"I  _didn't_ say that!" he snapped back, growing more defensive. Cameron just glared harder. His eyes were slowly narrowing, too. "I didn't say he deserved to kill himself— what I  _said_ was that he deserved to feel bad for everything he did! And oddly enough, Cam,  _no!_ It  _doesn't_  really occur to me that there were happy times because there were only a  _handful_  of them compared to the  _hell_ he made the rest of our lives!"

" _Our_ lives!" Cameron scoffed tearfully. "Give me a break— he didn't do  _anything_ to you, Jonathan…"

Jonathan was speechless for a moment. "…What?" he eventually rasped.

"He didn't  _do_  anythingto you!" Cameron was furious, but he was still crying. "But you're  _always_  the one ranting about him and hating his guts and making it seem like  _you're_ the one who suffered!"

His sadness was being replaced by anger. Slowly seeping through his bloodstream, strong enough to set his teeth on edge. He was still only whispering. "I  _did_ suffer. Cam." The words were curt and flat.

"But you make it seem like you're the  _victim—"_

"I didn't realize this was a  _contest,"_  he growled.

"It's not  _even_ a contest!" Cameron yelled. "It's not even a contest at  _all,_ but somehow you're  _still_ acting like you're anywhere even  _close_ to where I am; you're acting like you know better than me but you  _don't!_ You don't know what you're talking about but you act like I'm being stupid for thinking this way but you don't even understand! You just  _think_ you do! And  _God forbid_ you're wrong for once!"

"You're not even making sense."

" _No, you just don't wanna hear it!"_ Cameron yelled. "'Cause you're  _always_ the one  _everyone_ looks at, you're  _always_ the one people  _admire!_ 'Oh, poor  _Jonathan,_ he was hurt growing up, but he's so  _strong,_ he's always the one taking care of Cameron, making sure he's not such a big  _fucking mess!'"_ Jonathan was glaring at him now. "You  _love_ the hill that you sit on, you  _love_ the way people look at you and think about you! You have everyone  _falling over themselves_ to tell you how  _great you are,_ too! All I get is  _ignored—_  all I get is  _pity_  and— and made  _fun of,_ and  _beat up,_ all I get is my head shoved into a toilet— you get a fucking badge of  _honor,_ people just see you as the stronger one, and it's because  _you weren't hurt the way I was!"_

"I wasn't hurt?" His dullness was already starting to flare into rage. "I wasn't  _hurt!?_ Are you  _serious!?_ He didn't  _do anything to me!?_ He  _hit me every day, Cameron!_ He made me pretend I wasn't a  _person_ for the first twelve years of my life! You think I wasn't hurt when I stayed up all night worrying about whether or not you would even come  _home!?_ When I sat with you all day making sure you didn't  _overdose_ on all the  _shit_ he gave you!? When I had to see you in the hospital when I had to see you get sick, and work just to  _walk_ when I had to see you cry  _all the time!?_  You think that didn't  _hurt me!?"_ This next part just blurted out. "Hell— what about  _two years ago, Cameron!?_ When I had to find you  _bleeding all over_ the bathroom floor, when I thought for  _sure_ you were going to  _die_ , you think that didn't hurt me!?"

"See!? _See!?"_ Cameron demanded. "There you go again! Jonathan the  _martyr,_ he's so good because he takes care of his  _mess_ of a brother!"

"That's not what I  _think!"_ he yelled.

" _No, it_ is! _And it's what_ everyone else thinks too!  _And that's why you love it so much!"_ he screamed.

"Even if I  _did,_ then why would you still feel  _anything_ for the man behind the reason it's like this!?" Jonathan exploded.  _"He's_ the reason you got beat up!  _He's_ the reason Samantha stopped talking to you!  _He's_ the reason nobody at school wants to be around you!  _He's_ the  _reason_ your life is like this!"

"I don't need you to remind me how  _shitty my life is!"_

"But apparently you need me to remind you  _why!"_

"I was a part of the why, too!" he yelled. "I could have said no, I could have put my foot down, but I  _didn't,_ so we were  _both_ part of the why, but only  _he_ got in trouble for it, only  _he_ was—!"

" _Because he was a grown man and you were nine years old!"_ he interrupted. By now he'd stood up, setting aside the bowl and forgetting it completely.  _"Don't_ pretend he wasn't a monster just because you feel guilty, and don't you  _dare_ lash out at me and tell me I wasn't hurt too!" Cameron got up to his feet, too. They were less than five inches away, both crying and fuming at the same time. "My  _entire life,_ I've spent protecting  _you,_ even when I wanted someone to do the same for me, and now you're telling me  _I_ wasn't hurt!? That I'm a  _bad person_ for not  _crying_ over the monster that forced me to have to do that!?

"I came in here to do what I  _always_ do— I came in here to hold your hand and tell you everything was gonna be okay and not say anything I  _really_  felt! But you know what, Cameron, I'm  _sick_ of doing that! I'm  _sick_ of walking on eggshells and tiptoeing around, and I'm  _definitely not going to do it if you're gonna sit there and tell me I like the way things are now!_ If you're gonna sit there and tell me  _he didn't do anything to me!_ He  _did,_ Cameron, we were  _both_ hurt! I'm  _glad_ he's dead, and  _you_ should be, too! I'm not going to hold your hand, I'm not going to feel  _bad! Not_ this time!"

"I didn't realize I was such a  _fucking_  inconvenience to you!" Cameron spat.

"Don't  _do_ that! You  _always_ do that!" Jonathan rejected. "You wanna talk about how I like the hill I stand on!? You  _love_ the hole you  _dug for yourself!_ You  _love_ it! You  _love_ getting pity, you walk around like a little storm cloud looking for someone to rain on!  _That's_ why I've spent my whole life taking care of you— you  _love_ having  _someone_ there to tell you it's okay, to wipe your eyes and hold your hand and say it's all gonna be alright— you love it when  _anyone_ shows you the  _tiniest_ little bit of approval or gives you the  _tiniest_ comfort, and  _that's_ why you miss Sebastian! 'Cause no matter  _how_ many times he  _sold you to strangers,_ hey, at  _least he hugged you on your way out!"_

Cameron scowled and, without thinking, he shoved him. Jonathan stumbled, nearly toppling over. "Is that what you think!?" Jonathan straightened, the scowl worsening on his face. Tears streamed down Cameron's face. "You think I  _like_ being treated like I'm  _five years old!?_ I  _hate it!"_

"Then stop  _acting_ like you're five and maybe people will stop!"

Cameron shoved him again, crying even more. This time Jonathan snapped, and he rushed to shove him right back. His legs hit the bed and he fell back onto it. Oliver and Emma rushed into the room in just enough time to see this. Immediately, they hurried in. Emma went to Cameron, and Oliver stuck himself between the two teenagers. He fixed Jonathan with a scowl— a rare one, that was flooded with anger and disappointment. "What's going on here!?" he snapped. Jonathan just kept glaring at Cameron, as his brother picked himself up, throwing a just-as-furious scowl at him.

"Cameron has all the sympathy in the  _world_ for that jackass, but when it comes to me, I'm just a  _martyr!"_ Jonathan yelled. As if saying so out loud made him realize the full implications of it, he started to take a few steps closer to Cameron. Oliver was throwing his arm out at once to stop him, but he kept yelling regardless. "I can't believe you  _said_ that to me, what the  _hell_ is wrong with you!? You feel bad for  _Sebastian_ but you tell  _me_ nothing happened to me!?  _Nothing!?_ How  _self-absorbed_ can you  _be!?"_

"Jonathan, stop!" Emma snapped.

He whirled around to look at her, his eyes widening a little. Before they were flooding with angry tears all over again. "Oh,  _there_ you go—  _look, Cam! There's your cue, right on time!"_ he yelled sarcastically. Cameron was hunching his shoulders more and more; at this, his lower lip started to shake. "Here they are to take your side and comfort you and tell you you're right like they  _always do!_ And you're just gonna  _soak it all up like a sponge,_ and  _still_ want more!" He changed so he was glaring at Emma, instead. "You don't even know what happened, but you're  _already taking his side! It's not fair!"_

Guilt flashed through her eyes. Before she tried carefully: "I just meant stop  _yelling,_ so we can—"

"What can we possibly do to make Cameron happier!?" Jonathan cut her off, yelling this question with layers of derision and sarcasm. "Let's not even ask Jonathan how he feels about Sebastian! Let's not even ask Jonathan why he's upset, because he doesn't  _matter as much!_ Because  _heaven forbid_ Cameron keeps  _moping around the house_! Heaven forbid  _anyone_ else is the focus of attention for a single  _second!"_

" _Jonathan!"_ Oliver admonished.  _"_ Stop it, _right_ now!"

He scowled at his brother as he locked his jaw back. Cameron glared right back at him. His voice was so choked it was hard to understand. "Is that really what you think of me?"

He was too blinded by anger. His reply was hissed out through tightly-clenched teeth. "It's not my fault our  _entire lives_ you've played the  _pity_ card. I  _can't_  think anything else— you made sure of that." Oliver tore it. He started to herd Jonathan out of the room. He resisted, digging his feet into the ground just long enough to spit out at his brother: "Don't believe me?" he growled. "Maybe I should  _twin swear_ on it."

Cameron jerked, recoiling like he'd been burned. Jonathan felt a sick sense of satisfaction at the hurt he saw fill his brother's face. But that was the last thing he saw; Oliver grabbed his wrist and yanked him out of the room. He dragged him all the way into the living room. Only then did he let go. He whirled Jonathan around when he did. He was already glaring at him, for what he knew was going to come. Oliver got close to him and snarled under his breath: "What in the  _world_ was that, Jonathan!?"

"He said nothing happened to me," he choked, his anger already faltering as his sorrow began to take over, instead. "He said I wasn't hurt. That's not fair."

Oliver's anger faltered. By the time he replied, his voice was exhausted, and sad. "Jonathan… _nothing_ about this…is fair." Jonathan teared up even more, looking away and glaring. Oliver just leaned so that he could catch his eyes again. "Nothing about this has  _ever_  been fair," he pressed. Guilt weighed heavy on his heart, though, at the expression his son wore. He reached out, putting his hands on his shoulders. "And I'm  _positive_ that Cameron didn't mean that. He's just upset."

For a second, Jonathan was still mad. He almost started to fight. But he couldn't. He knew he was right…Cameron would never say  _anything_ to him like that. Over and over again, Cameron had said he was sorry for what he put Jonathan through. He felt as bad about that as Jonathan felt about not calling the police from the very beginning. Cameron would never look at him and say nothing happened to him…just like  _he_ would never look at Cameron and tell him he loved to play the pity card. Cameron was just upset about Sebastian. And  _Jonathan_ was upset about Sebastian too— about him evading justice.

He didn't reply, but he didn't have to. The look on his face – the way his expression broke and crumbled – was enough. He screwed his eyes shut, horrible shame and guilt wringing around his throat as he held his head in his hands. He tried to hold back his sobs, but they crawled out anyway. Oliver was silent, but Jonathan felt his arms go out and wrap around him. He hugged him close, rubbing his back. He didn't hug him back, but he did stand in the embrace. He tried to get comfort from it, but it was hard.

In this moment, he didn't really see a way at  _all_ to get any comfort.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Cameron didn't come to breakfast. Jonathan couldn't bring himself to eat any of it.

He waited, and agonized. But eventually, he got up the nerve. He went to Cameron's room and knocked on the door. He knew he wouldn't get an answer, so he just forced himself to walk in anyway. He was curled up under the blanket, with his back to the door. "Cameron?" Jonathan risked. His brother didn't reply, but he saw him curl up tighter. His heart ripped. He glanced at the ground and counted to ten. Before he picked his head back up and kept trying. "Cam…Cam, I'm— I'm  _so_ sorry." Still, he was given nothing.

He walked until he was right up beside the bed. Tentatively, he reached out to put a hand on his shoulder. "Cam…I was just upset…I didn't mean it, just like I know  _you_ didn't—" The instant he was touching him, Cameron was shrugging him off. The motion was so sharp and violent, his eyes went wide. Slowly, he took his arm back. Tears were starting to sting at his eyes. His voice was weaker when he tried again. "Cam…Cam, just… _please. Please,_ I…I could  _never_ mean  _any_ of what I said, I—"

"Leave me alone." The words were barely audible. But they were raw with tears and held-back sobs.

Jonathan's worry was burning brighter. He tried to touch him again. "Cam,  _please,_ I— I'm so sorry, words can't— I'm  _so_  sorry, Cam, please just hear me out—"

"I said  _leave me alone!"_ Jonathan reeled back when Cameron practically screamed these last two words. He took a few quick steps back, his eyes flying even wider. He heard a couple sniffs and sobs from underneath the blanket. Before Cameron spat out at him again:  _"Go_ away, get out of my room!" He sounded furious. Brokenhearted. Upset. Defeated. Like he used to. Jonathan's eyes finally welled up enough, and tears began to roll down his face. Not that Cameron was going to see.

He tried one more time. He barely rasped: "I… _Cam,_  I…"

" _Get out!"_ he screeched, curling up even tighter.

Jonathan's mouth snapped closed. He felt like someone was stabbing into his chest.

He wanted to fight. But he knew that it would get them nowhere.

He gave up and slunk out of the room. And tried not to completely fall apart when he heard Cameron crying underneath his covers as he did.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

"If it's alright with you two, I would like you to just…list a couple things you like about the other."

Jonathan had been studying his hands in his lap, but now he was glancing at Cameron. His brother was staring dully at the clock. He had bags under his eyes, and his hair was messed up. Too many times, Jonathan had been tempted to reach over and fix it out of sheer habit, but he was refraining. His brother was wearing an oversized hoodie and a miserable look on his face that had been there ever since Emma had dragged them out of bed this morning and stated with rare force that they were going to go to therapy today—  _both_ of them.

The woman's name was Holly. The first part of the session had mainly been her talking— Jonathan had offered curt answers and responses to her attempts at conversation. Now, faced with this request, he was a little disarmed. But he  _knew_ what he wanted to say. The words came easy to him. So he just began without pausing to see whether Cam would go first or not. Or maybe he just  _knew_  he wouldn't.

"Uh…" He cleared his throat. But smiled at his brother and prayed he would actually look at him when he started. "I like how strong you are." His voice seemed much too loud— or maybe the room was just much too silent. Cameron's lips shook. But he stayed looking away. "You've always been… _so_ strong—  _really_ strong. I know it takes…so much for you, sometimes," his voice cracked a little with this, "to just…do what other people can do without thinking. But you make it seem easy. You're always…so happy— or…or you  _were…"_ He practically whispered this last part. He closed his eyes for a moment before he cleared his throat, biting back on the tears he could feel coming. "You're always so nice to everyone. And you tell jokes that I…I pretend they're stupid, but I actually…think they're really funny." He tried to laugh, but it fell flat.

Cameron's expression wavered. It almost broke. He still wouldn't look at him.

Jonathan swallowed thickly. "I like…that you're my brother," he ended weakly. Cameron closed his eyes. "I like everything about you, Cam," he whispered. "I wouldn't change anything." He felt a tear track down his face. He rushed to wipe it away. A tear ran down Cameron's, too, but he didn't make a move to brush it off. He just let it fall. Maybe it didn't even register, anymore.

Holly smiled. "Thank you, Jonathan." He just sat back more in the chair with a small sniff. She looked at Cameron. "And Cameron? Would you like to tell Jonathan what you like about him?"

More tears ran down his face. Jonathan wouldn't be surprised if a full minute passed in silence. It felt like ages before Cameron started to force himself to speak. His voice was clogged. He could barely be understood. "I…like…" Jonathan's heart was already breaking the more Cameron's expression crumbled. "I like how…patient you are…you've always…been patient…with me…" Jonathan didn't like this. He didn't want to do it— he wanted to stop. But he was mute, and Holly was still staring at him. "I like…how I know…I can have you…'nd…how it…doesn't matter… _where_ we are, you…when I'm with you, I…feel like…I'm  _home…"_

He sniffed, starting to cry harder. Jonathan weakened, opening his mouth to tell him he could stop, if he wanted. But he was already going on. "You're…always there…when I need you…I'm…sorry I— need you…so much…" Jonathan's face fell. Cameron looked away, sniffing and wiping his eyes. A long period of silence followed this. Before he mumbled under his breath: "I'm  _not_  strong. I'm only strong because of you."

His shoulders slackened. He didn't know what to say.

Holly did, though. "What do you mean by that, Cameron?"

He just shook his head.

Holly looked at Jonathan. "What do you think about that, Jonathan?"

He stared hollowly at his brother. He said nothing.

She gave them a long moment, seeing if either of them would take the plunge to address it. But neither did. She nodded, putting a pin in that for later and continuing with the exercise at hand. "Alright…Jonathan, now I'd like you to just…list a couple of things you like about  _yourself."_

He frowned. "I'm…smart…? I don't have…any trouble with school, or anything…" She smiled, nodding encouragingly. "I know a lot about astronomy. I'm…a good writer. Um…I'm nice. I guess." There was an awkward pause, where she stared, waiting to see whether or not he'd continue. But he was through.

She smiled again. "Thank you." He shrugged. She looked at Cameron now. So did he. Still, Cameron was looking away. "And now, Cameron? How about you list some things  _you_  like about yourself?" she prompted, her voice a little softer. Cameron was curled up in the chair with his knees to his chest. Like he was trying to make himself as small as possible. As the silence built, so did his strain. His lips wavered, his eyes started to well even more. Jonathan's throat started to tighten.

"Cameron?" Holly pressed. "Just…a couple things you like about yourself. That's all."

More tears started to track down Jonathan's face. This time he didn't brush them away.

Cameron stayed silent. Stayed avoiding. Kept crying.

He couldn't say a single word.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Every night, it was routine. Oliver would go to every window and make sure it was bolted, and he would ensure both the front and the back door was locked. He'd started doing it when Cameron first came to them— with how skittish and nervous and apprehensive he'd been, Oliver soon realized if he made a point of showing him how secure the house was at night, he would be better able to fall asleep, or at least relax. So he would always walk through the house with Cameron padding silently after him, watching on his tiptoes with an anxious stare and listening to every click. Once he was through, he would always turn and smile kindly at him. And ask: "See? All safe."

He  _still_  did it, every night.

He was heading for the front door, when he stopped short. He saw someone sitting on the couch, their legs against their chest and their head hung low. His first impulse led him to think it was Cameron. He almost called out his name. When the boy suddenly looked up at him, just now noticing he was there, and he realized it wasn't the case at all. "Jonathan?" He looked away quickly, but Oliver walked over to him, frowning. "What's wrong? What are you doing out here? It's late."

Oliver saw him reach up to wipe his eyes. For a while, it was silent. Oliver didn't interrupt; he gave him the space to think. Eventually, he spoke. "I messed up…" He wilted at his son's voice, and how sorrowful it was. "I messed up, Dad…I shouldn't have— …I shouldn't have said what I did, I was awful…" he sobbed. "How could I say that to him? How could I…after  _everything_ he's done for me, why did I…why did I have to…?" He cut himself off, just bending low and choking back heavy swallows.

"Hey…" Oliver's voice was as soft as his expression was. Jonathan looked up, wilting even more. But his father just shook his head. "It's going to be okay," he promised. "It's all going to be okay. Trust me."

" _No,_ I made him  _worse,_ all he does is— he  _cries_ and doesn't  _sleep,_ and—"

"Johnny…Johnny, it'll be okay. It'll be  _okay. Trust_  Cam," he pleaded.

"I  _do,_ I just…" He cringed. "I'm… _scared,"_ he practically whispered. "I'm scared he's gonna—" He choked off, just shaking his head. It was like he wasn't even able to finish the sentence. He sniffed and drew his hands through his hair. When he did, Oliver caught a glimpse of his face. He wished he could have said he was surprised by the amount of worry he saw there. It was practically palpable. There was the smallest waver to his voice when he murmured: "I just don't know what's going to happen…"

Oliver stuffed away his own worry— his own fear, that Jonathan had captured perfectly. His own memories that kept him up at nights still, sometimes…of how pale Cameron had looked when the ambulance had taken him away, and how he had looked in the ICU with new bandages around the  _new_ gouges in his wrists, this time self-inflicted. Those images were burned in his mind just as much as they were in Jonathan's, he was sure. And he was sure that was all he was thinking about, now.

He wrapped an arm around him, hugging him close. Jonathan let his head lean over and rest on him. "Everything's going to be fine," he promised. "It's just hard for right  _now._ Cameron will get through it— think of everything else he's gotten through, right?" Jonathan hesitated, but nodded. Oliver turned more bracing. "There's nothing you two haven't been able to get through, together."

Jonathan studied his hands with a glum, slightly doubtful expression. But eventually, he murmured a small: "…Yeah…I guess." Not at all sure. And not at all confident.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Christmas was Cameron's absolute  _favorite_ holiday. Halloween was a close second. But Fourth of July was a definite third. He  _loved_  to blow stuff up, and it was always a plus when it was that explosion was  _supposed_ to happen. Jonathan was looking forward to tonight, in the hopes that the holiday would help put a little more life into his brother. So when the day finally came, he burst into Cam's room without knocking. Despite how dark the room was, he made his voice bright.  _"Cam!"_ he sang out. "It's the  _fourth!"_

Cameron was curled up in bed. His eyes flickered to him but that was it.

Jonathan pretended he wasn't deterred. "It's the  _fourth!"_ he repeated, dropping on his knees so he could put his chin on the mattress and grin at him. "C'mon! It's almost noon! We gotta go buy fireworks! You gotta come with us so we can get all your favorites! Emma even said we could go all out!" Cameron just shifted, to pull the blanket tighter around himself. Jonathan was starting to lose his smile. "C'mon, Cam," he pleaded, weaker. "You gotta come help us buy them— you have to pick out the ones you're gonna set off!"

"I'm not gonna set any off," he mumbled. "It's fine. Just get what you want."

Jonathan picked himself up. He sat back into his heels. "But…you never just  _watch…"_ he objected.

"'m not gonna watch," he sighed. "I'm tired. I don't feel good."

He was quiet. Before he forced out a dull: "Cam, you can't just keep lying in bed all day."

His only response was to twist, so his back was to Jonathan, instead.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

"She's supposed to get here any minute!" Jonathan was grinning from ear to ear. He leaned towards his brother and elbowed him in the side. "Aren't you excited!?" Cameron glanced at him; he didn't say anything, but he did crack the tiniest of smiles. That was enough, for him. A majority of this whole thing was for this exact reason: one of their last-ditch efforts to get Cameron to smile again. To make everything just a little more bearable. It was something for Jonathan, too— it was for both of them.

They were waiting for Cornelius' plane to land. She would be staying with them for the rest of the summer. She was the only thing in Iceland Jonathan and Cameron had real trouble coming to terms with losing. They'd stayed in touch, writing back and forth, and even calling a lot, much to the pain of their phone bill. But now she was actually coming to stay for a while. They'd get to  _see_ her. Jonathan had missed her dearly— she was his best friend in the entire world, next to Cameron. And Cameron was just as close to her. Having her back with them was going to help. Or at least they hoped it would.

"It'll be so great to see her again!" Jonathan kept chirping. "It's been  _ages!"_

He glanced at Cameron, expectant. Once Cameron realized, he cleared his throat. "Oh— yeah. Yeah. It'll be good." It was something; Jonathan was willing to take it. Emma and Oliver were standing with them; the three were clustered on the sidewalk outside of the baggage pickup area. She was certain to be walking out those doors any second, now. Jonathan grinned, and Cameron did a little too. Before he turned to look away, again. He seemed distracted by something. Jonathan was just glad he actually came.

"Does she like pasta?" Emma fretted, for the millionth time today. "I was thinking about making pasta tonight," one of Cameron's favorites, "but I don't know if she likes it…"

"I'm sure she'll like whatever you make her," Oliver reassured.

She made a face. She might have replied, but Jonathan was crying out before she could. "There she is!" They all smiled, when they saw her coming out of the doors, suitcase in tow. Jonathan felt like a million-pound weight was lifted off his shoulders when he saw her, and when she saw him and smiled, he started running. She laughed, stopping and throwing out her arms just in time for him to crash into her. He hugged her as tight as he could, her giggle going a little higher pitched when he squeezed. He pulled away, beaming. "Hi!" She giggled even more at the look on his face. "How was your flight!?"

"Long," she complained, but her eyes were bright. "I'm glad to be off." She gave him one more hug. By the time they were pulling away again, everyone else was catching up. She looked at Cameron and smiled. Jonathan looked between the two of them, some of his nervousness returning. He'd explained everything to her— from Samantha to Nathan, to Sebastian. After threatening the wellbeing of Nathan for about five minutes, a threat which Jonathan was still partial to believe actually existed, she'd been more than quick to reassure him she would do her best to help. Her expression got about a million times softer. "Cam!" She swept him into a hug. It was gentler than the one she'd given Jonathan. "I missed you!"

Jonathan was practically numb with relief when Cameron smiled. A real, genuine grin. "Missed you too, Corn," he returned quietly. He was the only person in the world that could get away with calling her Corn. And have her actually  _like it_. Cornelius gave him another beam, squeezing his shoulders a little before she turned and said hello to their parents. Oliver was asking if she needed him to get her bags— she was already insisting that she had it. Jonathan started to ask whether or not they could go out tonight— Emma was leaping in agreement, considering if Cornelius didn't like whatever it was, it wouldn't be on her. They started to walk, but Cameron was still distracted.

His eyes were stuck. Down the sidewalk, a group of people was standing together. They'd been standing there this entire time, and this entire time, he'd been watching. They weren't talking or even really acknowledging each other. They were just standing outside, smoking. They were probably all strangers. He could smell their secondhand smoke from here— Emma had complained a couple of times. Jonathan had grumbled that he wished they were farther away from everyone else.

Cameron had said nothing.

His eyes flashed as he watched one of the smokers lift the cigarette to their mouth. They took a long drag, and as they did, Cameron's throat burned and his lungs seemed to crush as if  _he_ was the one who'd inhaled. His hands curled into fists. For a second he wasn't aware of anything else; he was just staring over at the smoking area, not even able to breathe. Feeling a horrible sense of  _something_ tugging at his heart that he wasn't even really sure what it was. He probably could have stood there all day and watched, if Oliver hadn't called back to him and snapped him out of it. "Cam! C'mon!"

He jerked. Hesitated for a couple seconds, before he turned and rushed after them.

It wasn't until he got in the car, buckled his seatbelt and only half listened to the conversation between Cornelius and his brother, did he realize what that feeling had been. As he stared out the window glumly, watching them pull away from the airport, he finally put his finger on it. On what the feeling had been tearing into his chest as he'd watched all those people smoke in their designated area.

It was longing.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

They went out to eat. Cameron picked at his food and didn't talk much. Cornelius was talking up a storm, and so was Jonathan. The two were struggling to cram in a year's worth of events into a dinner conversation. Emma and Oliver hardly had time to butt in themselves. Mostly they were glancing at him, every so often. Cameron knew they were trying to hide the fact, but they were pretty bad at it. He could tell they were worried and he could tell that they were looking, just like he could tell that Oliver glanced at him in the rearview mirror the entire way home about every other five seconds. He didn't care.

They ate dinner and went home and helped Cornelius get set up. She got unpacked and her clothes arranged. She and Jonathan were planning on having a movie night— or that's what he thought, anyway. He wasn't really paying attention to anything enough to know a hundred percent what was going on. He went through the motions of helping her unpack, but he was silent, and all the conversation was just a drone in the background. He went to his room afterward, maybe mumbling something about being tired when he did. Again, he wasn't really sure. He was too detached to even pay attention to  _that._

He laid on his bed and let his thoughts wander. Which was usually something he tried his best to  _never_ let happen. They tended to wander much too far, and then they were too difficult to reel back. But he didn't care. He didn't care about a lot of things. He didn't care that Samantha would never talk to him again. He didn't care that nothing would happen to Nathan. He didn't care that everyone at their old school would be talking about him for months, about how weird he was and how pathetic, and about how they felt bad for the new school that had been forced to take him. He didn't care about how when they did start school again, it would only take about three weeks at the most for everyone to decide he was disgusting  _there,_ too.

He didn't even care that Jonathan hated him. That he  _had_ hated him, this whole time. He  _knew_ he did. Jonathan always told him he didn't, and he told him now that he hadn't meant what he'd said. But Cameron knew better. The words had come from  _somewhere_. They had come from truth, otherwise they wouldn't be there at all to say. And he knew that Jonathan was fully in his rights to despise him— to hate his guts because everything he'd said had been true. Not about him enjoying the hole he had indeed dug for himself…but the part about him never mattering. That was all true, and it was definitely something he deserved to be hated for.

No, that was a lie. He did care about that. Jonathan was all he had.

Jonathan was all he had, and this entire time he had secretly resented him.

His brother hated him, and now his dad was dead. His dad was dead, and Cameron was the reason he was. He wouldn't have killed himself if it wasn't for him.  _None_ of this would have happened if it wasn't for  _him._ It was  _all_ his fault, this was  _all_ on him.  _Fuck_ whatever  _bullshit_ Maria had spouted to him—  _fuck_ forgiveness. He didn't care how little he had been, he didn't care how much he hadn't known, he  _hated_ himself. He hated him back then and he hated him  _now._

He was glowering now, tears welling in furious eyes. However, underneath, there was a much deeper, nearly bottomless, pit of sorrow. He hated this. He hated everything. Emma and Oliver were going out of their minds worrying about him and trying to make him better, but there was no point, because no matter where he went or what he did it would always be the same. Nothing was ever going to change. No matter what country he was in, no matter what last name he had, he was always going to be branded for what he had done. So what was the point in favorite dinners? What was the point in smiles, in having friends over? It wouldn't do anything. He would  _still_ have this crushing weight of sorrow and emptiness.

He wanted a way out. He  _needed_ one. He  _needed_ to feel better, again. He couldn't take this.

He swallowed hard, wiping away a tear just as it fell. When he did, his eyes caught on his wrist, and his stomach clenched when he saw the scars wrapped there. His eyes flashed, and he hesitated. Before he moved and rolled up his sleeve, and stared hollowly at his forearms. The scarring there was  _much_ less noticeable. He remembered they used to look absolutely horrible— bruised deep blacks and purples with sore, red open areas. It had hurt to even  _twitch_ his arms. But the  _other_ feeling…how it would feel when that plunger was pressed all the way down… _that_ was a feeling he would kill for, right now…

"Hey, Cam?"

He jerked, shoving his sleeve back down and sitting up fast. Cornelius was standing in the doorway. She was smiling, but he knew that smile. It was the 'Look at this pathetic mess' smile. The smile that asked, 'What can I do to make him look less like a kicked puppy and make myself feel better in the meantime?' It was the only type of smile he  _got._ "We're gonna start the movie!" He just stared at her. Her smile was dropping. A much more somber look was replacing it. Maybe that was why he liked her so much— she didn't pretend for very long. She  _tried…_ but usually, she ended up just dropping it and telling it to you straight.

She tilted her head to the side. "You okay?" she murmured.

He tasted bile on his tongue when he was faced with that question.  _Again._ "M'fine."

"You don't  _look_ okay, Cam," she objected quietly. He looked away. "Do you wanna talk about it?" She hesitated before she hedged: "Jonathan…he… _told_ me. About…"

He scoffed. "Yeah, 'course he did." His voice was hoarse, his throat was so raw from crying.

"He's just worried. You can't blame him for that."

"No, I guess I can't." His voice was curt and stiff. He didn't say anything else.

"You can't blame  _me_ for being worried, either." He glanced at her. Her blue eyes were soft. "You're my friend, Cam. You're my  _best_ friend. I don't like to see you hurting. And I know you don't want to admit it, but I know you're hurting right now." His eyes welled more. "I was glad there was a place for me to stay, here. I wanna be with you and Jonathan— I wanna be with you guys for as long as I can. And I wanna be here for  _you,_ in case you need me. I can listen, I can talk…I wanna remind you you're not alone…"

"There's nothing to talk about," he whispered.

"Of course there is," she objected gently. "You just need to feel safe enough to do it."

His eyes narrowed a little more when he curled away a little. "Just go watch your movie."

"Not without you."

"I don't want to watch." This came out sharper than he intended. "Maybe another night; I'm tired."

"So fall asleep on the couch," she rivaled. He said nothing. She glanced down at her hands in her lap, before she took in a deeper breath. "Cameron…I'm  _so…_ sorry about your dad." He stiffened. His vision was blurred completely at the unexpected sentiment. "I met him before I met Jonathan— he was the one who…gave me that coin?" He didn't need to be reminded. "I know where you're coming from…I saw his gentler side  _too,_ I know there was more to him,  _just_ like you do." His expression was starting to crumble. He curled even tighter. "I was sad to hear the news. I was angry, too…but I was sad. I know where you're coming from— you can talk to me. I can help you…move  _on,_ I can—"

"There  _is_ no moving on," he practically spat. She was taken aback, by his sudden venom. "There  _is_ no moving on— there will never  _be any moving on,_ because all anyone ever sees when they  _look_ at me is a disgusting piece of  _crap_ that's  _slept with a million people,_ and that's all anyone will  _ever_ see when they see me, and  _he left me!"_ Her eyes widened a little. He was glaring daggers at her by now, but he was crying too hard for actual anger to get through. A rational person would know yelling at her and unloading all of this on her so fast and so soon, wasn't fair. But he wasn't rational. Maybe he'd never been.

" _He left me!"_ he yelled in a strained choke. "He  _left me_ with that! Now there's nobody else to look at! Now there's nobody else for everyone to  _gawk at— it's just me!_ There were  _two_ of us involved, and now  _I'm_ all that's left!" Her face was falling with the realization. He ducked away and wiped hard at his eyes. "Now I'm all that's left— he  _left me_ with all of this! Now I'm all anyone will look at or talk about!"

She was silent, watching him hide away like a turtle. Eventually, she blurted out the first thing she could think of. "They don't matter, Cam— what they think doesn't  _matter."_

"It  _does,_ because it's the  _entire world's_ opinion and I'll never get away from it!" he snapped. He glared at her, and the acidity in his eyes was enough to shut her up. She weakened, at a loss for what to say. But he was already done. He started to lay back down again. "Just leave me alone, for tonight," he growled. "I don't want to talk about it anymore, and I don't want to watch a movie. I just wanna be alone— I just wanna sleep.  _Get_ out."

"…Cam—"

" _Cornelius!"_ he yelled.  _"Get out!"_

He glared hard into the blankets. There were a couple seconds of silence. Before, eventually, he heard her footsteps leave the room. And felt the fact he was alone again.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

"I like America a lot more than Iceland," Cornelius huffed.

"That's 'cause  _we're_ here," Jonathan gushed.

She took another bite of ice cream. "Yeah, I miss laughing at how stupid you are."

"We're not stupid, we're the  _height_ of sophistication, right Cam?" Jonathan turned to grin at his brother, but his smile died when he did. Cameron's bowl of ice cream was untouched. He was staring blankly; he seemed distracted. He didn't even rouse at first, at the sound of his name. Jonathan frowned, reaching out and poking him. His eyes flickered to him, but that was it. He repeated himself. "Aren't we the height of sophistication?"

His brother stared at him for a couple of seconds. Saying nothing.

Without a word, he suddenly pushed away from the table and left the kitchen, leaving his bowl behind. Jonathan's face fell. Cornelius' eyebrows knitted more as she looked after him. They stared for a while before they turned and looked back at each other. Both of their faces were swamping in sorrow.

But Jonathan's was quickly becoming steeped in fear, too. As was his voice when he whispered: "I'm losing him."

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

It was late. Or, technically, it was  _early._ He was sitting on his bed, staring at the clock. Watching it round from midnight, to one, to two. The house was asleep. Emma and Oliver were upstairs. Cornelius was in her guest room down the hall. Jonathan was right next door. He listened for the telltale creak of floorboards, for the just-as-telling creak of doors opening. Any sign someone else was up. It was dead silent. He looked from the clock, down to himself. At the jacket he had thrown on, and the shoes he was still wearing. He'd felt nothing when he'd come to his conclusion. Just like he felt nothing, now.

He was numb as he zipped up his jacket and flipped his hood over his head. As he got up from the bed and went over to the window. The outside was just as asleep as the inside— there was nobody out there. Nobody to see him and wonder why he was unlocking the window and shimmying it up. Nobody to question why he squeezed out through and dropped to the ground.

Nobody out there to watch him ease the window down just enough, before turning and rushing away from the house.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you like this chapter! I hope I get to hear from you if you did.  
> There's an awful lot of drug use in this chapter, just a heads-up. This is the last of the flashback chapters, we're back in the present for good after this. I needed to get a lot done at once, so I hope I pulled it off well enough. So thank you for reading, and thank you to those of you who are so kind as to leave your thoughts you have no idea how happy they make me <3

_"I feel bad."_

" _What do you feel bad about?"_

" _I feel bad for still…wanting it. I know I shouldn't…and I know it's bad…but I still want it_.  _If someone offered_ anything _to me right now…I would have a really hard time saying no."_

" _I see…well…we've discussed this a lot, haven't we? Drugs are addicting…it's not your fault you were forced to take them— but you took them for a very long time. Addiction – wanting them back again – is going to be something you'll have to deal with moving forward. It's going to be hard… and it'll probably_ always _be hard for you. But it's something I'm going to help with. It's perfectly natural for you to still want them, Cameron. But think of how well you've been doing! You're almost three months clean!"_

" _Yeah, but…I don't_ want  _to be…"_

" _I understand. But don't worry, we're doing this together."_

" _You don't_ feel _what I feel, though…"_

" _But I'm here to help you every step of the way. You're not alone."_

_"But…I_ feel  _alone…"_

He remembered how it felt to  _first_ understand. To first feel the numbing, aching pain in the center of his chest— the sting that felt like someone was plunging a knife directly into him. He would start to feel it even if he hadn't had a dose for  _six hours._  And it would never go away, unless he was given another hit. Withdrawal was horrible enough in itself. It was like having the worst flu in the world, times ten. It was like a constant sense of  _wanting_ in the back of your mind that wouldn't leave. Constant thoughts of how life was when you were high and how much better it was than when you  _weren't._ He'd felt it a lot.

But to understand that feeling would last the rest of his  _life?_ And that he had no other option?

_That_  had made the pain ten times as worse. It had made it unbearable. And permanent.

Somehow, he bore it. He told himself it was for Jonathan, he told himself it was for Emma and Oliver. He told himself it didn't matter that sometimes, if he let himself think about it for more than one second, it felt like his skin was crawling, or like he was on fire. When it felt like he couldn't breathe, like all he wanted to do was scream, he would tell himself that it was all for his brother. That he couldn't have drugs again because it would tear Johnny apart. He  _wanted_  drugs, he  _wanted_  alcohol, he wanted  _anything…_ but he wanted his brother, more. He knew that if he went back to  _any_  of that, he'd lose him. He'd upset Emma and Oliver, too…but mostly, Jonathan was what kept him suffering in silence.

He suffered for Jonathan. Again. And yet…

' _You love getting pity, you walk around like a little storm cloud looking for someone to rain on! That's why I've spent my whole life taking care of you!'_

' _Then stop_ acting  _like you're five and maybe people will stop!'_

' _How self-absorbed can you_ be!?'

Cameron didn't want pity. He didn't want to  _force_  Jonathan to take care of him anymore.

All he wanted now, was this.

He felt bad. He'd felt bad all day. When he heard Jonathan and Cornelius laughing in the living room, he'd felt bad. He'd felt bad when Emma had come into his room and plead gently with him to have lunch, and he'd just ignored her. He'd felt bad when he'd waited for hours into the night, making sure that nobody was awake before he snuck out. He'd felt bad when he'd gone to the old, run-down, hole-in-the-wall gas station just a couple miles from his house.

And he'd felt bad when he realized it was going to be so  _easy._

He guessed a part of him  _wished_  it would be difficult; then, there might be an excuse. Maybe he wanted for it to be too risky to gamble on. Then there would be an excuse not to do this. But no. The instant he stepped in, he knew it would be a piece of cake. Given that it was nearly three in the morning, the person who was supposed to be manning the store was half-asleep. They roused a little when he came in; at first he thought there was his out: they would see a customer and force themselves to wake up. But their eyes had flickered over to him and just as quickly, they had closed again. Cameron stopped for a couple moments, waiting, just to be sure. But they were too exhausted to open their eyes again.

He kept his head down. There was a camera in the corner but he knew how to avoid it, mostly. Anything it caught would just be his hood. He went to the back of the store, where he knew the alcohol was sectioned away. He hesitated, just staring at it at first. He heard Jonathan's voice in his ear.  _'Don't do this…you know this is wrong. And you know you can come and talk to me. Don't do this. Just go back home.'_ He grimaced and agonized. The last bit of himself – the bit that had almost wanted this plan to fail from the beginning –kept him from moving. It tried to remember himself, and everything he'd worked for…

But that bit of him was so small, by now. It was too  _tired_  of fighting. The majority of him won.

He grabbed as much as he could. He'd brought his backpack with him, purely so he could take home more than he could carry. And he wasted no time before he started to fill it. He grabbed whatever had the highest percentage of alcohol— that was all he cared about. He grabbed pack after pack and stacked and stuffed them into his bag. He grabbed a handful of the smaller, shot-like bottles. He grabbed singular bottles when no more packs could fit, and he shoved them so they could fit into the tiny niche spots that still remained. He did all of this while glancing over his shoulder, but the person was still asleep.

He filled his bag as much as he could. By the time he was through, he could barely zip it closed. He slunk out of the store just the way he'd come, silent the entire time. Once he was out the door, he breathed a tiny sigh of relief…a  _marginal_ one…because he knew that if a police officer saw him walking home it would take them less than two seconds for them to realize he was up to something. His backpack was about twice as big as it usually was, and he was wandering around outside at three in the morning during summer. The entire way home, he was waiting for the ball to drop. But it never did.

He made it there and back before four, entirely unquestioned by anyone. Again… _easy._

He'd left his window open a crack; now, he could hook his fingers underneath and push it up. He hoisted himself back in his room, and shut it behind him. He didn't dare turn on his light, just in case the glow would give away the fact he was awake. For a couple seconds he stood in the dark, staring blankly and listening to the faint sounds of crickets he could still hear from outside. His heartbeat was loud in his ears. He couldn't tell if it was because of fear…or excitement.

Finally, he snapped himself out of his stupor. He went to his bed and shrugged off his backpack. It was heavy— after carrying it for so long, his back was aching. He took everything out, making a small pile and actually surveying what all he'd brought in. He'd gotten two four-packs of bottles, and four six-packs of cans. He had handfuls of the smaller plastic bottles. He'd managed to cram in two more bottles just on their own. He was thankful Oliver had bought them these backpacks instead of those other 'cool' ones. This one was huge, and it was only thanks to  _that_  fact that he'd managed to get so many at one time.

He wasn't worried about whether or not the person had seen him. Or whether or not he'd be found out somehow thanks to the camera, even though he'd kept his head ducked. His backpack might be able to be identified…but again, he dismissed that worry. All he was worried about right now, was about hiding all of this. He could hide them in the back of his closet, under some clothes…he could hide some in his drawers, tucked underneath some shirts or jeans…

He looked from his closet, to the stash, but when his eyes fell on the pile again, they stayed. His heart twisted, and he swallowed harder. He glanced at his hands, as they wrung together. It took a while, but he finally caved. He would hide them later. For now, he just sat on his bed and dragged one of the six packs closer. He slipped the can out and opened it slow, so it wouldn't be loud when he opened it.

Once he did, he scooted so his back was to the wall. He let out a sigh that shook a little on its way out, as he just held it for a moment. Remembering so many things…things he didn't particularly  _want_  to remember. This brought up a lot of bad memories…but he knew that if he just…drank  _enough_ …eventually the memories would stop.  _All_ thought would stop, and frankly, just the idea of that blankness was something he wanted so badly, it took his breath away. Jonathan's voice was still stuck in his head. It kept begging him to rethink. He  _knew_ his brother would be furious…

But he also knew that Jonathan didn't know anything about how hard this has been for him.

And how  _tired_ of it all, he was.

He had no idea— nobody did. So why should anyone's thoughts but his  _own_  matter?

And that was the thought that repeated over and over in his head as he started to drink.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Jonathan knocked. By now, this was just a formality. He knew he wouldn't get an answer. So when he  _didn't_  get one, he wasn't shocked. He just waited a couple of seconds before walking in by himself. The room was dark. Cameron was in bed— he didn't perk when the door opened so Jonathan figured he was asleep. But it was almost one. He  _had_ to get up. So Jonathan took a deep breath and put a smile on his face. He shook his shoulder gently. Cameron's forehead creased a little but that was it. Jonathan didn't bother whispering as he kept trying to wake him up. "Cam…hey, Cam, wake up…"

He saw him crack his eyes open. He was immediately shutting them again, but at least Jonathan knew that he was up. "Cam, I wanna take Cornelius out for lunch. I wanna show her that one place, on the pier? With the really good lemonade?" Cameron shifted, covering his mouth with his blanket. "Cam? We'd really be happy if you came, too. Cornelius wants to be with you just as much as she wants to be with me." Still, he didn't react. Jonathan weakened, trying not to feel frustrated. "Cameron. Come on…"

Cameron twisted away. There was just the tiniest of mumbles from under the blanket. "'msick…"

He straightened. His frown worsened. "You're…sick?"

It took a second for him to reply. "Don' feel good…"

"Well…did you take medicine? Did you check for a fever?" Old habits died hard. He already felt his old, parental worry seep back to him. He remembered all the days spent soothing Cameron and trying to make him feel better as he threw up for the fifth time. All the nights he was sick or upset or didn't feel good. When he would get him a washcloth for his forehead, glasses of water, crackers that would be easy on his stomach— anything he could think of to make him feel better. Right now, especially with the situation itself, suddenly Jonathan felt the need to do all of that again. "Do you need something— I can make—"

"Jonath'n jus' leave me alone…" he sighed.

Jonathan's eyebrows drew together a little. He could tell something was wrong. His voice sounded different. For a second he just stood there. Something kept him in place, staring at his brother as something tugged in the far back reaches of his mind. He wasn't quite sure what it was, but something felt wrong. And…familiar. "Cam, are you okay?" he rasped after a second.

"'mfine, j'st go," Cameron grumbled in return.

There was a pit in the bottom of his stomach. He still wanted to press. He wanted to track down what was making his stomach feel so wrong. But Cameron curled away from him more, and tugged the blanket over his head. He was doing everything he possibly could to make sure he knew that he didn't want to keep talking to him. Jonathan knew if he pushed more, it would just make him worse. So, biting back his frustration and putting a lid on his worry and, he just mumbled a very small 'okay' as he left.

Trying not to linger too much on the bad feeling that stayed in his stomach.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

_He only had a couple more minutes. He was packing. He always wanted to spend as much time with Jonathan as he could before he had to leave…if Johnny wasn't too mad at him, that was. Tonight, he wasn't. They'd watched a movie; Jonathan hadn't even shrugged him off, when Cameron ended up leaning on his shoulder. He'd felt bad for falling asleep…he was_ still _really sleepy. He packed whatever he could think of, stopping every so often to rub at his eyes. His arms dragged a little; it took more effort to move. He was so tired he'd been comfy enough to fall asleep on Jonathan's shoulder— that was saying something. He didn't know how long he'd been asleep, but he_ did  _know it wasn't enough. As he kept organizing everything, Cameron realized that all he really wanted to do was lay down in bed and fall back asleep._

_He realized…he wanted to stay home._

_He wanted to stay, tonight. He didn't wanna leave. He'd left_ every night _this week, so far. He_ missed _home. He missed being with Johnny; he missed being in his_ own  _bed. He missed not staying up late, not hearing his heartbeat in his ears, really fast and panicked even though he did his best to calm down. He didn't want to stay with someone he didn't know, in a house he didn't know, far away from his brother, when all he wanted to do was hug him and stay with him._

_At first it was just a tiny thought. But it started to take root in his mind and pretty soon, he was faltering, not even able to move to put his change of clothes in his bag. He dropped his arms and felt his stomach drop just as much. His throat was starting to hurt. So were his eyes. He just stood there staring, his thoughts only seeping through more. 'I don't wanna go…I wanna stay with Johnny, I wanna finish our movie. I don't wanna go, why do I have to go_ again?  _Why can't I stay, at least just for tonight?'_

" _Cameron?" His heart jumped into his throat when he saw his dad standing in the doorway. He wore a frown that was immediately making a rush of worry and alarm run through the little boy. But the rush was even worse when he realized he'd started crying. His eyes burned and his cheeks were wet. Once he figured it out, he was whipping back, swallowing the lump in his throat. He wiped at his eyes, hoping his dad hadn't seen. But his stomach dropped again when he heard his footsteps approach. "What are you doing?"_

" _Nothing." His voice was thin, and choked. Another wave of tears smeared his vision. His voice was even worse when he croaked out: "I'm packing."_

_Cameron didn't dare look at his father. He grimaced when he heard him press: "What's wrong?"_

_The silence was longer, this time. Cameron dropped his arms again, staring down at his things as his vision smeared_ again _at the inquiry. Dad didn't like it when he cried. Only babies cried, and he was mature. He tried to duck away even more, so he wouldn't get mad. But there was no denying it; Cameron knew he'd already seen. So the confession slipped out. "I— …I'm just tired," he whimpered. He sniffed, and reached up to wipe his eyes. "And I miss home. I don't…" He took in a sharp breath. "I don't wanna go, tonight…I miss Johnny and I miss you, I just…I just wanna stay…"_

_He was terrified of his dad's response. It certainly took a while to come. But when it did, he was shocked it wasn't what he'd been expecting; it wasn't anger. His father knelt down to be on his level. He put a hand on his shoulder. The look on his face was softer than it normally was. It caught Cameron off-guard. "Why do you want to stay?" he prompted. "What would you rather be doing here?"_

" _I…I wanna play with Johnny, and— and I wanna practice, I haven't— I haven't practiced in a long time, I miss doing magic, it feels like I never get to do it anymore..." Little sobs were hiding under his words as he struggled on. "I can't— I can't sleep when I'm somewhere else, I'm— too scared, and I just wanna sleep 'cause I'm really_ tired."  _He sniffed and started to hide his face. "I just— wanna stay home, tonight…"_

_Sebastian was silent for a few heartbeats. He looked thoughtful. His voice was measured when he finally replied. "I understand." Cameron perked, looking over at him, his tear-filled eyes a little confused. "You want to stay home because you miss us." He left a space, and in that space, Cameron nodded. The anxiety fluttering in his chest still wasn't going anywhere. And for good reason. "That's understandable. But…Cameron, we'll_ always  _be here. Won't we?" There was more of a hesitation before Cameron nodded again. "You'll_ always _have time to play with Jonathan. But_ this money  _won't always be here, will it?"_

_Cameron's chest had just begun to flutter with hope. Now it was crumbling. His voice was weak when he mumbled: "I…guess…not…"_

" _You don't have to worry about us," he reassured. "We'll be fine." Cameron opened his mouth, to say that wasn't what the problem was. But for some reason he couldn't get anything out. In his silence, Sebastian smiled, which didn't help. "You don't need to cry, Cameron. Everything's alright, the way it is." Cameron tried to wipe his eyes. Sebastian smiled even more, and moved so he was holding onto both of his shoulders, now. "Come on…give me a smile." His voice was suddenly so much lighter._

_Cameron sniffed. He lifted the edges of his lips up into a fragile grin. His lips were trembling._

" _You can do better than that! Give me a smile!" Sebastian urged. Cameron tried, but the more he tried, the more his lips shook— the more his chest hurt. "Come on! Smile!" With this last urge, he suddenly lunged forward and grabbed him. Cameron yelped in surprise as he held him with one arm and turned him around. But he started to yelp even louder and laugh, when his father started to tickle him. The little boy immediately started to try and break free, giggling and shrieking the entire way, but Sebastian was too strong; he hugged him to his chest as he tickled his sides, relentless no matter which way he tried to twist._

_Cameron's face broke out into a huge smile. The more the laughed, the less tears blinded his vision. The hollow feeling in his chest was gone. He was kicking out and wiggling— trying to fight to break free but only in a way that would assure he couldn't, so his dad could keep tickling him. And he did. Sebastian tickled him until he was red, until his smile was so big, if it got any bigger it would crack his face. Only then did he let go. Cameron stumbled, still laughing and gasping once his sides were finally given a break._

_He was still beaming, when he turned around to look at his dad. He looked completely different. He wasn't choking back tears, or sniffing. He was grinning his old grin, and when he looked up at him it wasn't with apprehension or anxiety, it was just with clear adoration. And the adoration only grew when Sebastian leaned out and ruffled his hair, messing it up._ "There's _your smile," he remarked, and Cameron's chest filled with so much warmth it almost hurt. "I was beginning to think you'd lost it!"_

" _Nope! It's right here!" he chirped._

_Sebastian nodded a couple times, smiling down at his son. Before, abruptly, he looked at his watch and the smile was receding back into that business-like apathy. "Alright." Even his voice was back to its brisk flatness. "Get your bag, we're going to be late. We've kept them waiting." Cameron blinked a couple times, his smile faltering. His dad didn't even notice; he was already turning and leaving the room. Cameron's smile faded entirely, and his shoulders drooped. A sense of confused sadness clouded over his expression, as he looked from the spot his father had left, to the bag that was still sitting on his bed._

_His eyebrows drew together. That hollow feeling was beginning to come back. Not as strong as before, but quickly_ growing _. The longer he stood there, catching his breath from being tickled, the worse it felt. For a couple heartbeats, he stood in the room, alone and looking a little lost._

_Before he shook himself and zipped up the backpack. Throwing it over his shoulder fast and forcing himself to rush after his dad just as quickly._

Cameron sat against his bed. The door was locked, and the lights were off. He was staring into space, eyes filled with tears. He wasn't sobbing, or gasping— it was all silent. Just like the look on his face was still nothing but apathetic. He was blank save for the tears, and the occasional sniff. He looked down blearily at the bottle of beer; he was swaying, by now. His expression was sick when he saw he still had more than half of the drink left. He'd already had so many…but he was still thinking too much.

He wiped at his eyes. And flinched as he forced himself to take another drink.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Cameron leaned against his car, studying his shoes. The only time his eyes flickered up was to watch people pass. He was trying to remember everything. Everything his dad had told him, and taught him. Trying to remember every night Cameron had been there to witness him finding someone new, when the name wasn't given to them or they weren't already connected. It was difficult, but he was doing his best, trying to match up the characteristics as best he could. This was the biggest, most crowded liquor store he could find. Especially given that it was a Friday night, it was a lot more populated.

He was parked in the lot of the pizza place close by. He was just waiting for the right person. Watching, and waiting, and thinking. It was almost nine. He'd told Emma he wanted the car to take a drive, and clear his head. He almost felt guilty when he saw how relieved her smile was. Almost. Just like he was almost guilty for stealing those three twenties out of Oliver's wallet on his way out. But he was mainly just focused on getting here. The other stuff ended up slipping his mind.

His eyes were combing the people coming and going. So far, nobody had struck him as the 'right' one. He was doing his best to remember Dad's words. He was trying his best to remember who all they had stopped, trying to figure out whether or not there was any similarities. It was hard to tell. People didn't typically have a neon sign announcing it. Even though that would be very helpful right now. His eyes were narrowed in thought, his lips were pulled into a questioning frown. He knew he didn't have very much longer before Emma would start to worry where he was. He had to get home soon.

Which was why when another car pulled up, Cameron was perking.

It was a group of people. A group of young adults— three boys and two girls. They were all laughing and talking obnoxiously; he could hear their voices even before they got out of the car. He waited to see what they would do, suddenly hoping against hope, and sure enough, they all went into the store no problem. They weren't trying to hide, like he was. They weren't trying to sneak their way in and out. They weren't going to steal. They were old enough to buy it themselves.

Which meant they were old enough to buy it for  _him._

He glanced around to make sure nobody was looking as he crept closer, more towards their car. Inside, he was already crunching the numbers. They were younger— that was a plus. They would be more inclined to be sympathetic towards. It looked like they were already well into a night of partying, going by their yelling and loud laughter— they'd be less likely to care, he was willing to bet.  _And_  he had the money. All in all, these were the best candidates to ask that he'd seen so far. He would try. He hoped they said yes; he was pretty sure he had to leave after this. He didn't want Emma worrying so much – which she always seemed to do – that she would send Oliver or Jonathan out to find him. He wasn't in the mood for that.

He waited, lingering awkwardly by their car. They were in the store for about ten minutes, and when they came out they were laden down with bags. Cameron felt an awful tug in his gut as he wondered where they were headed. It was probably somewhere freer. Where there was bound to be more alcohol and maybe even other things, and he wouldn't have to worry about hiding the fact that he was drinking. Even now, if he managed to get them to say yes to him, he had to worry about getting everything back home. The idea of having a night of freedom, where he didn't have to drink in silence and then stash the bottles and cans somewhere to throw away later, was horribly appealing.

He shook himself out of his thoughts when the group reached their car. He hesitated for one more second before he shook his caution away and rushed the handful of yards it took to get to them. "Hey!" he called out softly. They all stopped short, surprised when they turned to look at him. The driver was eyeing him oddly, but at least they were giving him the floor. There was the tiniest sense of nervousness in the bottom of his stomach. But it was only tiny. "Hey, um…" How did you put this? "Could you guys…do me a favor?" he ended up asking, pretty lamely.

One of the girls immediately, very loudly and blandly, declared: "He wants us to buy him alcohol."

He stiffened a little at her volume, but he didn't object.

The driver looked him up and down. He had shaggy black hair and brown eyes that flashed when he looked at him. His voice was cool when he asked: "How old are you?"

Cameron lied. "Eighteen."

The driver smirked. He made a vague 'come on' kind of gesture. "How much money you got?"

He took out Oliver's money, to show them. "Sixty." The driver barely had time to look interested before Cameron was offering: "You can keep a twenty. If you do this for me."

One of the others whistled low. The driver's smirk widened. He glanced at his friends who all either shrugged or weren't even paying attention. He turned back and extended his hand. Cameron hesitated for a second, before he reluctantly handed over the cash. The other took one of the twenties and stuffed it in his pocket. He studied the other two before he looked back at Cameron and raised his eyebrows. The way he was looking at him made it seem like he was looking at the punchline of some joke. Cameron didn't really care  _what_ he thought of him. So long as he actually  _spent_  that forty dollars.

"Alright, then, kid," he sighed. "What do you want?"

He shook his head. "Whatever's strongest," he offered a little quietly.

He mulled it over a bit more. Eventually, he shrugged. He turned and jerked his head to the side; one of the girls and one of the guys turned to follow him back in. The other two stayed by the car. Cameron watched them go anxiously, stiffer with nerves. He was well aware of the fact that they could easily just keep his money and report him— not that they seemed like the type. But he couldn't steal from this place. And he'd already stolen twice; one from that first gas station, and then again from another corner store. He couldn't keep pressing his luck, especially if the events started to get connected.

He roused when the girl spoke up. She had long brown hair that was pulled back. Her expression bored, but at the same time, she announced: "You don't look eighteen."

_I'm close enough,_ he wanted to say, although it wasn't true. "I get that a lot," he mumbled.

The boy spoke up next, from the other side of the car. "So what're you doin'? Got some big party to get to?" Again, it was asked like it was a joke.

Cameron shrugged one shoulder. "Kind of." He kept it curt. He didn't want to talk much.

They seemed to pick up on that vibe and he was glad. Neither of them tried to speak again. Other people might have found it awkward to just stand in the silence with these strangers, but Cameron was over it. He just wanted the beer and he wanted to leave. He just studied the pavement between his feet, moving to stand on one foot as he started to drag the toe of shoe over a split in the asphalt. He ran his foot back and forth across the crack, his forehead creased in a cross between thought and slight sadness. But before he could really figure out why the latter was there, they were coming back.

He was relieved to see that they'd actually bought stuff. He smiled, and took the bag eagerly when the driver came back to hand it to him. He was a little caught off-guard when he saw how much he'd bought. He guessed forty dollars went a much farther way than he'd anticipated. "There ya go, squirt," he sighed. "Go easy. Those'll do it for ya, that's for sure."

Cameron held the bag tighter, nodding quickly. "Thanks."

"Pleasure doin' business with you," he tossed back. Cameron was studying him just as much. He was trying his best to think. The older dug into his pocket for his keys; Cameron's eyes flashed when he saw him also pull out a pack of cigarettes. He turned to unlock the car as he shook one out. All the others were getting back in, to go to whatever party Cameron wished he could go to, too. The driver popped one in his mouth and started to do the same, when Cameron blurted it out.

"Can I have one?"

They stopped again, looking at him with a mix of surprise and confusion. He glanced down at the pack he was holding and realized. His eyes flickered to Cameron as if to ask him if he was serious. But Cameron was dead serious, and the look on his face said as much. He was fully prepared for the person to say no. After all, he'd done enough for him, and this wouldn't have any monetary reward. So Cameron was surprised when he shook out another cigarette. He held it out to him, expression expectant. Cameron was almost too stunned to accept, but thankfully he shook himself out of it and took it.

"Go easy, kid," he repeated, in a little bit of a laugh. He started to get into the car again when he hesitated and looked back at him. "My name's Jacob, what's yours?" he asked.

Cameron looked up. His reply came without actual thought. "Jonathan."

Jacob nodded, still thoughtful. But he didn't stay longer before he was getting back to his friends. Cameron lingered, watching them pull away. He could hear them turn their music back on, and as they drove off, he heard them all start laughing and talking again, like nothing had happened. He wondered what they were talking about. He wondered where they were going. He wondered why they were so happy.

He wondered why it was his brother's name that had come out of his mouth.

He didn't waste any more time on it, though. He booked it back to his car. He drove  _almost_ all the way home. He stopped a couple houses down, in front of one that already had their lights out. He tied knots in the bags and slipped out of his car, going to their trashcans along the curb. Carefully, he settled them on top of their garbage. The trucks would be by in the morning; he'd be back in a few hours.

He drove the rest of the way home, and got what he was expecting: the second he walked into the house, all attention was on him. Everyone was playing Monopoly in the living room; Cameron imagined  _that_ was the best excuse they could come up with when it came to staking out the front door for whenever he came home. The instant he was crossing the threshold, everyone was looking at him and smiling. Bitterly, as they all called hello, Cameron imagined the headlines. 'Local Boy Finally Comes Out of His Room!'

"Cam!" Jonathan chirped. He ignored the dull look Cameron gave him. He just beckoned him over. "We just started a couple turns ago— do you wanna jump in? We still have a lot of properties left."

"I don't even like playing Monopoly when we  _start_ at the same time," he mumbled.

Cornelius piped up. "You can have half my properties, Cam, I don't mind."

"I'm good. Really. I'm just tired, I'm gonna go to bed." It looked like Oliver was going to say something, but abruptly, he was turning for the hallway and announcing: "Night." He'd hoped that would be the end of it. He just wanted them to let him go. But he should have figured they wouldn't. The second he got into his room and started to shut the door, there was a foot planting itself in the way. He was already wilting with exasperation. But when he turned and realized it was Emma, and he saw the look on her face, he was weakening even more. There was something about the way she was looking at him – so eager and hopeful – that was making him feel awful.

"Hey, sweetheart…" When Cameron just stared at her warily, her smile got even more fragile. She reached out to rub up and down his arm. "How was your drive?" she murmured.

It felt like his words were sticking in his throat. "It was fine…"

So much hope flooded through her eyes, it was almost painful to see. The more she smiled, the worse he felt. "That's good! Where did you go?"

"Uh— just— around," he offered. "I drove…down to the park, and then…to the pier…I just—" He rubbed the back of his neck, averting his eyes. "It felt nice to be alone…and…think…"

Her expression softened even more. "Oh…well, good, I'm glad." Again, he hoped that would be the end of it, but again, the hope was for nothing. "You know…honey…" Her expression was pained as she reached up to brush his bangs to the side. He tried not to grimace. "I know things have been hard for you, lately…" She let her hand trace down to rest against his cheek. "I'm very glad to see you up again, I know it's not easy…" Cameron put on a smile and gave a little nod. "If there's anything else I can do for you…or if there's something you want to talk about…I hope you know you can come to any one of us. We all just wanna help you, and make you feel happy again…"

"I know," he got out. "…Thanks, Mom."

She beamed. She let her hand fall from his cheek and leaned over to give him a kiss there, instead. "Goodnight, sweetie. I love you very much." He managed another nod. She drew back and closed the door, leaving him alone in his room. He stood there for ages, staring at nothing, before he turned and got under the covers. He was still fully dressed, but he pulled the blankets over his shoulders so that nobody would be able to tell. He shut the light off, and he waited.

It took a long time. He figured it would— it was  _Monopoly._ It took hours, but eventually he heard everyone start to say goodnight. He heard everyone start to head back to their own rooms. He heard his door creak open, and a little bit of light spilled in. For some reason he was  _positive_  it was Jonathan, poking his head in to see whether or not he was awake. His back was to the door, though, and he stayed perfectly still. After a couple seconds, Jonathan just withdrew and shut the door again. The click was tiny, but it seemed magnified, once he was plunged into darkness once more.

He heard last few bits of conversation, and doors closing. Silence followed, but he wanted to be sure that everyone was truly asleep. He waited another hour, glancing at the clock every ten minutes. When not another peep was heard, he finally threw off his covers. He was burning up from staying underneath them for so long— his jeans and long sleeves weren't helping at all. When he went over to the window and eased it up, it was almost a relief to get the cool breeze from outside.

He eased out the window, easily, now. He ducked his head and rushed down the driveway, heading down the street. He got back to the house he'd stashed his bags. He grabbed both and made sure nobody saw, before he hustled back. He hoisted himself back through the window and actually looked at what they'd bought for the first time. It was a lot…and it was a lot of names he hadn't seen before. It didn't even matter whether or not they tasted good— that wasn't what he was in this for.

He hid most of it. He kept one pack and he was quick to lock his door and start drinking. He drank fast, so it would take less time for it to get to his head. So he could feel that buzz faster, and start thinking less, faster. He drank it so fast that it burned on its way down and got his eyes watering, but he didn't even care. Whatever they'd bought him, it was strong, and he appreciated it. By the time he drank three of them he was already feeling better. He was already thinking less about the way Jonathan had smiled at him, and the way Emma had looked so concerned when she'd kissed his cheek.

He thought less about how his dad had hugged him and kissed him.

And less about what he must have looked like hanging in his cell when they found him.

He finished off that can, and his bleary mind finally remembered the cigarette he'd slipped into his pocket. He looked down and fished it out, staring at it in his palm. He reached up with his other hand and grabbed at his doorknob. He tugged himself up to his feet, and stumbled. He nearly smacked into the wall, but he caught himself at the last second and just swayed until he regained his balance. Only then did he unlock his door and head for the kitchen. He had to find a lighter. How else was he supposed to  _smoke_ it?

To say he was unsteady was putting it lightly. He staggered and stumbled the whole way. He had to hold onto the wall, otherwise he was just gonna fall. He managed to get to the kitchen without collapsing. Which was a plus. But he did feel pretty sick. It felt like the whole place was spinning. He slouched against the counter as he used his other hand to look groggily through the drawers. He knew there was a lighter in  _one_ of them. It was hard to see. It was even  _harder_ to see when everything looked all warped.

But eventually he found it. His fingers closed around the plastic and he was just slipping it into his pocket, when a sudden voice made him freeze.

"Cameron?"

He jerked. He could have fallen on his face, if his arm hadn't already been braced on the counter. He had to get over the mental hurdle of shock— it was even more delayed than it normally was. Eventually he got himself to turn, and he found himself suddenly looking at Cornelius. She was in her pajamas. She was looking at him with concern and confusion. He just stared at her, thankfully leaning so much on the counter that it wasn't as noticeable he was swaying. Still, his head was dipping a little bit. Cornelius' eyebrows drew together. "Cameron, are you okay? What are you doing? It's late…"

He was quiet for a couple long seconds. Before he just blurted out:  _"You're_  up."

She just looked at him even more oddly. "I mean… _yeah,_ but…you don't… _look_  okay."

Again, there was a long pause. Before: "What'm I supposed to look like?"

Her eyes narrowed. "What are you doing?" she repeated.

"'m…I w's thirsty." His words were melting and smearing together.

She looked down. "Why are you wearing your shoes?"

He looked down, too. When he looked back up, all he offered was a blank: "Cold."

She started towards him. He started to stumble back. She was obviously faster. She fenced him against the wall, and when she did, she jerked back, awful understanding flooding over her face as the smell hit her. "Cameron— have you been  _drinking?"_ He didn't say anything. She turned and rushed back to towards the entryway, snapping the lights on. Immediately, Cameron cringed, wincing against the sudden light. She whirled back and looked at him from head to toe. At his disheveled hair, and bleary, red eyes. She could see how severely he was swaying. She scowled, and hissed even harsher: "You've been  _drinking!"_

He rubbed his eyes, trying to get around her. "'ve got no idea, what you're…get outta my way."

She threw out her arm. Cameron ended up basically grabbing onto it to keep from falling. "Where did you get it!?" she demanded. She'd never been angry with him— not once. She was his best friend— arguably, she was his  _only_ friend. Back in Iceland, between her and Jonathan always willing to shove over someone without remorse or hesitation, bullies always at least got what was coming to them in the end. She'd always loved him in the same protective way as Jonathan, and while sometimes it could be annoying, most of the time it just felt good, to know that he always had them. They'd had sleepovers, and birthdays, and she was always there to talk to. She was his best friend; they'd never had a single fight.

But she was mad, now. Now, she was  _furious._

When he didn't answer, she just got angrier. In the very back of her eyes, and in the very back of her voice, there was horrible sorrow. A sorrowful kind of  _understanding_  that she wasn't saying out loud. But Cameron was clearly too drunk to sense that. He looked  _wasted._ Her stomach was twisting more and more the more real the situation grew, to her. "Tell me where you got it, Cameron!" He just glared at her, but even  _that_  was fuzzy. "How long have you been doing this? All those nights you went straight to your room— have you been drinking this entire time?" Cameron still kept glaring at her, but that was an answer in itself.

Her eyes narrowed again, and she shook her head. He was her friend. His glare was almost desperate. But she was telling herself to look at the entire picture— to ignore those things and look at everything else. At how sick he looked, too, how unsteady he was, even when he was leaning against the wall. He'd been depressed and isolated the  _entire_  time she'd been here. She'd hardly even really  _seen_  him. The dots were all connecting and she hated the picture it was making. And she felt even worse when she considered his history. There was no telling what  _else_  he could be doing.

He turned to storm away. She tried to stop him, but he was smacking her away. He threw her off so hard she stumbled backwards, nearly tripping. Thankfully her back hit the counter, and it caught her. Cameron rushed back to his room— it was difficult to be fast when every other trip was a stumble or a stagger, though. He shut his door behind him but he wasn't thinking enough to lock it. All he did was grab up all his empty cans. He went to the trashcan by his bed and threw them away so they were hidden under the rest of the garbage. He was doing his best to cover his tracks, but he was too drunk to. After he did that, his head was swimming so much that he ended up just laying back down in bed, still fully dressed.

But the  _second_  he hit the mattress, the door was bursting open.

Jonathan had been fast asleep, but the second Cornelius had poked him awake, however cautiously, and the second she even  _began_ to try and explain, he was shooting up to his feet. He wasn't even the tiniest bit tired— the instant he realized what was going on, everything else melted. His expression was furious, his jaw was set back, his eyes were blazing. He saw red. It was his first impulse reaction. So when he stormed over to Cameron, he wasn't thinking about his actions as much as he was just  _doing_  them. He wasn't thinking when he grabbed his shoulder and yanked him onto his back, or when he ignored his yelp and started to root through his jacket pockets and toss his covers around.

"Where is it?" he practically spat. Cameron started trying to get his hands off of him, but it just made Jonathan angrier. When his brother started to push against him, he just pushed back twice as hard. "I said where  _is it,_ Cameron!?" Cornelius was standing in the doorway; her eyes were wide and almost guilty— growing guiltier as her friend's anger mounted.

Cameron sat up sharply, trying to shove Jonathan off. "What're you— get off o' me, stop, you—!"

"Where's the rest of it— I know you didn't have all of it!" Jonathan yelled. The longer he saw Cameron the worse off he felt. He recognized the smell, the bleary look in his brother's eyes and the slurring in his words. It was bringing up so many things. The helplessness he'd always felt when Cameron would come back drunk or high and he had to figure out a way to calm him down or keep him safe until he came down. The sick feeling he got when his brother was so out of it, and he couldn't even understand him. He  _hated_ all those feelings, and now they were punching him right in the stomach all over again.

His eyes flashed when they caught on the trashcan. He scowled again, letting go of Cameron abruptly and diving down. He didn't bother rooting through it, he just tipped the entire thing over. There was no satisfaction on his face, though, when sure enough all the crushed cans tumbled out. His eyes just darkened. He was even more furious when he saw the sheer number. He grabbed one of them and whirled around to shove it in Cameron's face, like he was a dog and he was showing him the shoe he'd chewed up.

"Are you  _serious_ Cameron!?" Cameron made a face and tried to push it away, but Jonathan met the effort by smacking his arm away. "You drank  _all of these!?_ What in the world are you  _doing!?"_ Cameron said nothing; he glared off to the side. "You're  _wasted,_ you can't even sit up straight! How did you get these!?" He waited, but was given nothing. He shoved him harder. "I asked you a question, Cameron,  _answer me!"_

Cameron's head was starting to dip— his eyes were starting to close. "I didn'…have 'ny…"

"Gimmie a break!  _Why_ are you drinking— you  _know_ what Maria told you about—"

" _Screw_ her," he slurred. He glared harsher at Jonathan and tried to push him away again. This time he even kicked out a little bit, catching him in the legs. "'nd  _screw you too, Jonathan!"_

Jonathan scowled. "You're being  _stupid,_ Cameron, I can't believe you would actually go out and—"

"I said  _screw you!"_ he spat, throwing forward all his weight this time, and shoving Jonathan away. It almost knocked him clear off his feet. If it wasn't for Cornelius dashing forward and steadying him, he would have fallen. Jonathan's anger melted just a little— just enough for hurt to leak into his gaze instead.

But Cameron was still glaring daggers at him, however disoriented he was.  _"Screw_ you, don't pretend you give a single  _shit!"_ He was pushing himself back up; he was swaying severely from side to side. Jonathan's anger broke even more. Tears were threatening in his eyes, making them look much shinier than they usually were. Cameron didn't even see. "Why're you even  _in_ here— just go back to  _bed,_ you don't need t'  _worry 'bout me,_ I don' wanna  _inconvenience_ you."

Jonathan tried to take a step closer. Pain and heartbreak were quickly writing itself over his face. His voice was much more strained when he attempted: "Cameron— you're not an inconvenience, I  _love_ you." Cameron's eyes flashed. He started to try and reach out to him; more and more tears were smearing his vision as he looked at his brother and remembered all the nights long ago he had looked the exact same. "I love you so much, Cam," he croaked, trying this tactic instead. "That's why I just wanna help you. I wanna take  _care_ of you, I don't wanna let you go down this path again—"

"Oh,  _shut up!"_ Jonathan's face fell when Cameron all but laughed this. It was an angry laugh; it held no humor in it whatsoever. Despite how drunk he was, he managed to look so scathing. There was nothing but scorn in his voice. "That's a  _bunch_ of bullshit, you're  _such_ bullshit." Jonathan's expression began to grow defensive, and hurt. "You told me you hated me and now you're pretending you care— holy  _crap!"_ He was starting to give up the effort of sitting; it was too much. He started to slouch down to the mattress, smiling and rolling his eyes as he scoffed another harsh: "Screw you, Jonathan, oh my  _God."_

Jonathan's tears were beginning to fall. He looked back at his brother in shock, in disbelief, in sorrow and anger and regret. Countless times, he had seen his brother drunk and upset, and he never thought he would have to see him this way again. But here they were, years later, the exact same: he was drunk and upset, and Jonathan was at a loss of what to do. But no…he  _wasn't_ at a loss. Not this time. He looked back at Cornelius; when she'd noticed he was finally crying, she'd reached out to squeeze his hand. Now, when their eyes met, she squeezed his hand again. He steeled himself and turned back to Cameron, feeling one last sting of regret before he took in a deep breath and yelled:  _"Dad!"_

Cameron reacted the instant Jonathan started calling. He glowered, starting to stand up as he hissed at him to stop.  _"Dad! Mom, Dad!"_ It didn't take them more than five seconds to run into the room. As was expected, when one of your kids starts screaming at the top of their lungs at three in the morning. Given they were in Cameron's room they probably figured it was  _him_ , which helped too.

They burst inside, disheveled and bleary, but panicked. They tried to gather what they could from the first glance. Oliver was in front— his eyes widened when he saw all the cans on the ground, and his eyes got even wider when he saw Cameron and how wobbly he was. It didn't take a genius to put two and two together, but Jonathan did anyway. "Cameron's drunk." His brother was scowling at him with pure hatred. The words stuck a little, but he kept going. "I have no idea how he got it or how much he has left."

"Cameron— you're— what in the  _world—!?"_ Oliver struggled to stutter.

"Everyone  _get outta my room!"_ Cameron yelled.

Emma was shocked— her face was ashen when she looked at her son. She walked over to him and grabbed his hands in hers, trying to catch his eyes. "Cameron…" He looked at her with a grimace already on his face. She reached out to brush his bangs back. "Honey…honey,  _what_ happened? Why are you—?" Cameron wrenched his hands away and ducked out of her grip. He stumbled and nearly fell. There were already tears in Emma's eyes. She turned and looked at her husband with horrible confusion and sorrow.

Oliver was still trying to figure out what was going on. "What happened?" he demanded Jonathan.

"Cornelius woke me up— she said she found him in the kitchen and he was slurring his words and stumbling all over the place." Jonathan's throat felt thick; he couldn't tear his eyes away from his brother. Cameron was just glaring at the ground, though. He refused to look at anyone, anymore. "I came in here but it's just impossible to reason with him, he's not listening."

Oliver was blinking fast. He looked from Jonathan, teary-eyed and furious, to the cans, to Cameron, barely able to stand. He closed his eyes and tried to breathe for a moment, and sort through it as best he could. When he opened his eyes again and stepped over to him, so he was forced to look at him.

"Cameron." Jonathan had never heard his voice so flat and angry. Cameron looked away and Oliver just grew sterner. "Cameron,  _look_ at me.  _Tell_ me what's going on. Where did you get all of these?" It certainly didn't come from  _here._ Emma and Oliver had given up drinking – even though they only drank socially, or together – the second Cameron had walked into their house. They hadn't had a drop of alcohol since, much less have anything at all in the house. They knew how much of a risk it would be for Cameron when it came to relapsing. He had to have snuck out and found a way to get it. Which they should have anticipated happening sooner or later. "Where did you get this, Cameron?" he pressed.

But Cameron wouldn't even look at him.

A couple tense moments of silence passed. Everyone was staring, waiting tensely for whatever was going to happen. But Oliver drew back and shook his head. There was no use. Not tonight. He looked at Jonathan and his heart tore when he saw the pained, haunted, desperation on his face. He reached out to rub his shoulder. "Go to bed, Jonathan. You too, Cornelius." They seemed doubtful, but they didn't argue. "We'll sort this out in the morning— we can't get anything done, right now." Jonathan glanced at Cameron one last time, brokenhearted and remorseful now that he was avoiding his stare like it was the plague. He obeyed, but reluctantly. Cornelius helped tug him out of the room, and on the way Oliver shot her a guilty look. "We're sorry," he offered weakly, but she just shook her head, looking saddened.

Emma put her hand against Jonathan's cheek as he walked by, looking apologetic. But the instant he was leaving the room, her worry was flooding back. She turned to Cameron, wiping her eyes. She tried to touch his arm again but the instant he felt it, he was shrugging her off. He was still glaring at the ground, but Oliver could see the tears he was trying to hold back. He took in a quick breath, pinching the bridge of his nose for a second. Then he straightened and cleared his throat. "Cameron, you go to bed, too."

"'mnot tired," he mumbled.

"I don't  _care,"_ Oliver fired back immediately. His chest felt like someone was ripping into it, but he did his best to only show his anger. "Get in your pajamas, lay down, and  _go to bed._ It's  _late._ We are going to  _talk about this in the morning,_ do you understand me?" It was so rare that he talked this way. Cameron's eyes welled even more. His shoulders hunched and his lower lip trembled. Oliver was painfully aware of this. His voice was softer when he pressed: "C'mon. Bed. Nothing else is going to happen until the morning."

They made sure he actually did what they told him to. While Cameron changed, Emma set to work picking up the trash. Oliver helped. The only sound was Emma's occasional sniff. Cameron collapsed into bed and immediately curled away from them. Emma tried to kiss his head but he pulled the blankets over him. Oliver just grabbed her hand and pulled her out. They closed his door and lingered together in the hallway. Once it was just them, Emma stopped trying to hide the fact she was crying. Her expression crumbled and she ducked her head, screwing her eyes shut as her shoulders started to shake.

Oliver hugged her close. He rubbed her shoulder and kissed the top of her head. "What happened?" she cried. It was only in a whisper but it still seemed loud. "How could we have let this happen!?"

"I don't know," Oliver whispered back, still holding her. He felt empty, and hollow. He felt like a failure. He felt like he had no idea what he was doing. "I really don't know…"

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Cameron didn't come out of his room. But that didn't matter.

They both came in and closed the door behind them. Oliver stood at the head of his bed, and he felt Emma sit down at the foot of it. He didn't move at first, as if he hoped if he stayed a statue, they would leave. But it wasn't the case. "Cameron." Oliver's voice was gentle, but Cameron's heart stopped when he heard the  _disappointment_ already there. He just felt worse when Oliver repeated himself and he was forced to hear that disappointment even clearer. "Cameron. Sit up, your mom and I wanna talk. That's all this is."

He was already exasperated, but he gave in and sat up. His head swam the second he did. He felt sick.  _Severely_ hungover. It must have shown on his face because Oliver's eyes flashed with even more disappointment. He was painfully aware. He couldn't even really look at him. So he just waited for what he knew was going to come.

And come it did. Oliver took a couple seconds to think. Eventually he took a deep breath and started. "Cameron…" Already Cameron's shoulders were curling inward. Under the sheet, his hands were already wringing. "I just want you to know…we're not mad at you." Emma shook her head furiously. "We're just confused. And we just want to talk to you, and figure things out. I understand how hard everything has been for you, lately. And I understand that you think…things like  _this_ might make things… _easier,_ but—"

"You don't," Cameron mumbled.

It took a couple seconds for Oliver to be able to reply. "What?"

"You  _don't_ understand how hard it is," he growled. "So don't  _say_ that you do."

Oliver glanced at Emma. She was growing more and more nervous. "You're right…we don't…we can  _see_  you're hurting. But Cameron, you  _know_  things like this won't help. You remember everything Maria told you." His heart tore. Oliver could see the distress building on his face. "You're smarter than that, Cam, we know you are. You  _know_  this isn't the way you get through this. You know this isn't right."

This time, the space he left was only getting bigger, and Cameron realized he wasn't giving him the option of  _not_ replying. So he spoke, but it probably wasn't what he wanted to hear. His voice was clogged and worn when he started to choke out: "It was only a  _couple drinks…"_

Oliver was immediately shutting the effort down. "Cameron, it was  _not_ just a couple drinks, but even if it  _was,_ it would still be wrong. You  _can't_ cope with alcohol, that's  _not_ okay." The disappointment was like sandpaper scraping his skin. "And…especially in your case— you know alcohol just leads to so much more. It's a  _rabbit hole,_  Cameron, you can't let yourself fall down it.  _We_ …are not letting you fall down it. This has to stop.  _Now."_ He set his jaw back more. It was getting harder to hold his tongue. He was burning with shame and anger and sadness and about a million other emotions. He was practically suffocating.

"So…you're going to go back to therapy." Cameron's head snapped up and his eyes went wide. Oliver just grew sterner when he saw the indignation on his son's face. "You're going to go twice a week. We're taking the car keys— either I'll have them or Jonathan will." All Cameron's sadness was gone. Already, it was replaced with anger. "You'll have a curfew. No being out after five."

"After  _five!?"_ Cameron exclaimed.

"You're going to be grounded for a while. If you wanna leave the house, Jonathan and Cornelius are going to go with you. Eventually you'll be able to go out by yourself again, but that's going to be until you earn our trust back. We're going to take it day by day. We're not going to let you stay cooped up in here, you're going to eat breakfast lunch and dinner with us. We're going to talk about  _everything,_ Cam. We're going to address what happened at school, we're going to talk about…we're going to talk about Sebastian—"

"I don't  _wanna_ talk about him!" Cameron yelled. "I don't wanna talk about  _anything, at all!"_ His voice was getting more and more choked. His tears – furious tears, now – were building fast. "I don't wanna talk about anything, I just wanna be happy and  _this_ makes me happy, I've felt the most okay I've felt in  _ages_ and you're not being fair!" He sniffed, glaring at Emma, instead. She was doing a much worse job when it came to controlling her face. "I don't wanna go back to therapy— therapy doesn't  _do_ anything! I'm not gonna talk! If you take me there you're just gonna waste your money because I'm not gonna talk!"

She tried to reach for his hands. "Sweetie, it'll  _help,_ it—"

"Don't  _'sweetie'_ me!" he snapped, yanking away. "It  _won't_ help, it didn't help before!"

"Of course it did, Cameron, you—"

" _Well obviously_ it didn't, because I've been  _miserable for the last three years!"_ he sobbed.

Tears rushed down Emma's face. "Honey, that's why we have to try and work this out, so—"

"Stop! Just  _stop!"_ he shouted. She froze, grimacing deeply at the emotion in his voice. "Stop because you're not going to listen!  _Just_ like you didn't listen when I was fourteen!" She looked at him despairingly with this. "If you're not gonna listen to me and you're just gonna yell all these rules at me then just  _get out!_ I don't wanna talk to you if you're not gonna listen to me!"

"Cameron—" Oliver tried.

" _No!_ Get out! Why should I listen to you when you  _never_ listen to me!" Before either of them could say anything he was laying back down, tugging the blankets back over him. Emma started to try and get them off, when his yell made her stop short. It was more of a sob than anything else. It was the saddest thing she'd ever heard. "Get out just leave I don't wanna talk to you I just wanna be  _alone!"_

For a few heartbeats, they stayed, looking at their son with sorrow and regret and a horrible sense of hopelessness. But eventually Oliver took Emma's hand. He pulled her up and helped her out. They'd come in wanting to be much more optimistic and more in control of the situation. But when they went into the hall again, they felt just as lost and scared as they'd felt going in. And it was clear by the look they exchanged, that neither of them knew what to say.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Oliver waited in the parking lot. He'd counted the cars eleven times now; the number was always the same. He always forgot to bring a book. But thankfully, the hour was almost up, and he was more than certain Cameron would be out and in the car the second the last minute ticked itself out. Sure enough, once his watch ticked itself to twelve, he looked at the door. It wasn't thirty seconds after, that Cameron was exiting the building. He was scowling…there were waves of anger and irritation coming off of him, Oliver could tell already. He got to the car and let himself in. He slammed the door closed.

Like always, he didn't even look at Oliver. He scowled out the window. His  _body_ was even angled away from him. Despite this, Oliver tried to remain bright. "How was it?" Cameron's glare just got angrier. If looks could kill, Oliver would be long dead. "Did you talk about anything this time?" Cameron shifted more away from him. Two visits and Cameron was keeping his promise. He had not said a  _single word_ to his therapist. Not even  _hello._ They didn't even know what his voice sounded like.

"Cameron, you're going to have to talk eventually," Oliver sighed. "I know right now you don't believe us when we say we know better, but we  _do._ One day you're gonna look back and be grateful."

Cameron stayed silent. Oliver gave up, trying to ignore the gaping hole in his chest when he told himself that it was useless. He resigned himself to the silent car ride that would end the same way it always did: the second he parked, Cameron was going to storm out. He would go into the house and straight for his room; he'd slam the door as hard as he possibly could. There was no point fighting it.

So he stopped trying and just took to driving in silence as Cameron glared out the window.

Feeling exactly like he did years ago, as if every step they'd taken up to now was nonexistent.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

" _Was I good?"_

_Sebastian stopped short, turning back to look at him. He was starting to go down the hall, probably to his room. They'd just gotten home. Usually he went right to Jonathan. Jonathan made him feel better. But Dad was going to leave without saying anything. He_ had  _to ask. Even if he hurt, and was tired._

_Sebastian studied him for a couple moments. Before he smiled. "Of course. You were very good."_

_Cameron beamed at the curt response. He took a couple steps closer. "Did we get a lot?"_

" _I got more than I expected," Sebastian returned. Cameron grinned wider. "You did well."_

_Cameron's smile dropped the instant he turned his back to him. He started to walk away but Cameron rushed after him. It hurt to move. But he grabbed his sleeve anyway. Sebastian was frowning a little when he turned again; he was sorry for being annoying, but Cameron said it anyway. "I love you!" The chirp was happy…but it was desperate, at the same time. A plea for him to return the sentiment._

_At first, it wasn't clear on whether or not he would. Cameron got nervous when he didn't reply right away. But then Sebastian smiled again; he even moved to wrap him up in a hug. Cameron was over the moon. And he was even_ more  _over the moon when Sebastian returned: "I love you too, Cameron."_

_Cameron squeezed tight, his chest warming. He murmured a soft, hesitant: "Are you proud of me?"_

_Sebastian studied him. Cameron was on pins and needles. Eventually Sebastian grinned again. But there was something missing from this smile, this time. "I am proud, yes," he said. Cameron began to light up. But he faltered when he continued, his voice a little thinner. "Maybe_ next time, _you can do it without crying on the way there. It makes your eyes red, and people notice."_

_Cameron blinked a couple times. His heart fell, and so did his hands. His smile began to die. Until Sebastian raised his eyebrows expectantly. Then he forced it back on, grinning artificially as he nodded. "Okay. I'll try not to...next time, I'll do better," he promised, in a small murmur. This made Dad much happier. He patted his shoulder, before he turned and left. Cameron watched him go. He ended up staring down at his feet. His chest started to feel hollow. His shoulders drooped._

_The 'I love you' and the 'I'm proud of you' left his mind. All that stuck was the last part._

_That replayed over and over in his mind as tears stared to prick at his eyes._

Cameron's head rested on his arm. He was leaning on the windowsill, hanging a little out of it. His head was foggy. Oliver had looked through his room for the rest of the alcohol but he hadn't been able to find it. He'd just finished the last of it, tonight. There was always a risk of someone walking in to 'check' on him. There was a risk of them noticing the bottles and cans in the trash. He really didn't care.

He hadn't had enough left to really  _be_ enough. The other night he'd gotten  _blackout_ drunk. He didn't remember a single thing. Usually Emma checked on him at least once, at night, to make sure he was still  _there._ He must have just looked dead asleep. Either way, they probably noticed. His clothes smelled like alcohol, and he always tried to brush his teeth well but his eyes were usually red. Maybe they were just trying to decide how else to 'confront' him. All that mattered was that he was out of  _everything_ now. He didn't know what he was going to do. After tonight, he'd be left with nothing.

He'd almost forgotten he had the cigarette. And the lighter, too, he'd swiped. But his drunk mind somehow remembered at the last second, so here he was. He'd opened the window, leaned out a bit, and lit up. His hands were shaking, and so was his breath with every exhale. He'd coughed and choked the first few puffs, but now it was getting easier. He was feeling it— the scratchiness at the back of his throat, the pull of the smoke in his lungs, the way he seemed to relax even before he breathed out…

It wasn't heroin. It wasn't anywhere  _close._ But it was  _something._

He was almost done with it…he was trying to savor it. He hung out the window, so none of the smoke would get inside. Hopefully it wouldn't even linger in his room— it would be like it never happened. But he'd remember that it did. And he would want it back. For now he just concentrated on it, and how soothing it was. Staring at the grass and watching with fogged dullness at the ash that sprinkled down.

Wondering why it was Sebastian hadn't just let him have the sense of fucked-up accomplishment.

Wondering if he saw him now, whether or not he would be proud.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

"Do you want some toast, honey?" Emma asked gently. Her voice was always gentle, with him.

Cameron didn't even look at her. He was half-asleep, his head propped on his hand and his eyes almost closed. He wasn't reacting to anybody. The entire table was tense— the way it always was now. Cornelius was on Cameron's other side; she'd thrown numerous nervous, worried, slightly accusing looks his way through the entire breakfast. He hadn't noticed. Emma took his silence as rejection. She wilted when she looked back down at her plate. Oliver was sitting across the table, looking hard at Cameron. His expression was angry…but it was also horribly concerned. He was gripping his fork tight in his hand.

Emma tried again, a couple minutes later. "Cameron, Jonathan and Cornelius were thinking of going to the shore." Jonathan had been glaring down at his plate, stabbing hard at his eggs. He looked up now, his eyes flashing. Cornelius' shoulders hunched. "Maybe you can go with them— you love the ocean."

Cameron only hummed back. She wilted again.

"It'll be fun!" Cornelius tried, albeit weakly. "We can get lunch, too, later. We could even—"

Cameron shoved himself away from the table. He left the room before anyone could even try to call him back. They watched him go. A couple seconds after he disappeared, his bedroom door slammed.

He was getting better at that. It practically shook the entire house.

For a couple seconds the silence lingered. Jonathan was the one to break it. "So are we just gonna keep pretending nothing is happening? Is that the plan we all landed on?" Oliver tried to throw him a look but it was too sad to pass as the sternness he'd wanted. "He can barely keep his eyes open, he can't keep his  _head up_ — he's  _hungover!_ And I  _know_ I'm not the only one that smelled the smoke!"

"We know, Jonathan…" Oliver said thinly.

It just made him madder. "Then  _why_ aren't we doing anything!?" Emma cringed, ducking away. "We're just letting him keep going, we're letting him get worse and nobody is saying anything!"

" _What do you expect us to do, Jonathan?"_ Oliver demanded, suddenly hostile. Jonathan jerked back at the sudden anger. "We searched his room but didn't find anything, we got him back into therapy but he sits in the  _hour long sessions_ and doesn't  _speak!_ We grounded him but apparently that's not doing anything! We're trying to find inpatient therapy but we can't find one we can afford yet, and you  _know_  he's not going to wanna go, he's going to be furious! What do you want us to do, Jonathan, should we call the police on him? Have him stay a couple nights in  _jail?_ You think that would be better?"

Too late, Oliver realized the tone he'd taken. His eyes widened and his face fell when he saw Jonathan's eyes flooding with tears. He'd stiffened and now he was leaning away from him. He was always so quick to get defensive with yelling…Oliver  _knew_  that. He worked so hard all the time to  _never_  yell when it came to their boys… "Jonathan— Jonathan I'm sorry…" Jonathan's lower lip trembled as he looked away. Cornelius weakened and reached over to rub his back, which just made him more upset. "Jonathan, I'm— I'm sorry, I shouldn't have yelled, I— I didn't mean to, it's just— been so stressful lately, I…"

Jonathan wiped his eyes with his arm but the second he did, he broke and started crying softly. Cornelius scooted her chair closer, so she could hug him. Emma was frozen in her seat, staring at her  _other_ son now with just as much helpless disappointment as she cried, too. Oliver's heart sank, horrible guilt digging into his heart as Jonathan hid his face. The excuse wasn't fair. This was stressful on everyone. And he'd just  _yelled_  at his son over it when he was probably even  _more_ upset than he was, for obvious reasons.

His mouth hung open; he tried to reach for an apology that would do it justice.

But there wasn't one.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

" _Emma!" Jonathan grinned when Cameron yelled at the top of his lungs. They were both in the water; Jonathan was a few more feet out. Cameron was a lot more nervous when it came to getting in. They'd never actually swam in the ocean before. When they'd been told they were going on a trip to Florida, playing in the ocean was what they were most excited for. Excluding going to Disney, of course. But now, actually faced with it, Cameron was more daunted. Jonathan was giving him time to get used to it._

" _Emma! Emma, look!" He was waving his arms, trying everything he could to get her attention. Jonathan's eyes flickered up to his wrists, and his smile grew a bit more pained when he saw the scars. They were a little over a year old, now. Jonathan had seen them a lot more than he wanted to. It never got any easier. He was just glad Cameron wasn't paying attention to them right now. He just kept yelling and jumping. "Emma, look! Look, it's up to my knees! The water is up to my knees!"_

_Emma and Oliver were distracted. They were trying to figure out how to set up the umbrella. Neither of them heard Cameron; he was quickly losing his patience. "Emma! Emma, Oliver, look!" He waved his arms even more furiously. "Emma!_ Emma, _the water is up to my knees!"_

_Jonathan started to wade back to him. "I don't think they can hear, Cam," he giggled._

_Cameron blew out his cheeks. "Emma!" he screamed. "Emma, look!"_

_Emma and Oliver were still oblivious. They were almost done with the umbrella._

_Cameron yelled loudest of all:_ "Mom!"

_Jonathan froze. Cameron didn't even notice. "Mom, look!"_ This  _got Emma whirling around. Jonathan could see her shocked expression all the way over here. Her eyes were huge and her mouth was hanging open. Oliver looked the exact same. Neither of them did anything at all. Cameron got even more impatient. "The water's up to my knees!" he yelled again. "And look, I found a shell!" He waved it all around._

_Emma's stunned expression stuck, but she called out after a second: "I— yeah, that's so cool!"_

_Cameron immediately accepted the acknowledgement and, as usual, lost interest soon after. He turned back to Jonathan, holding the shell closer to his chest. "Okay, let's keep going," he chirped._

_He started to walk, but Jonathan was stuck. "Cam." Cameron perked. He looked confused. Jonathan glanced between him and the shore, where Emma and Oliver were still staring stupidly at the two of them. "Cam…you just called Emma_ Mom,"  _he said._

_His brother frowned. He looked back at the beach. When he did, Oliver and Emma were snapping themselves back into motion. Though they were a lot more uncoordinated with the umbrella than they already were. Which was saying something. "I did?" he asked. Jonathan nodded. He looked back at him, still frowning. Before he shocked Jonathan a second time and shrugged one shoulder. "Oh." He turned and kept walking, abandoning the thought, apparently. "C'mon, I wanna get all the way in!"_

_Jonathan stared after him blankly. Until a smile spread over his face and he rushed after._

He stared out over the waves, his eyes red and irritated. The ocean was choppy, and the temperature was plummeting— it was going to start storming. They'd have to go back. But for now they were sitting on a rock and just watching the waves. It wasn't calm and warm like it had been back in Florida. Cameron wasn't with him— he was sleeping off his hangover. It was just him and Cornelius. Everything was different.

"Are you okay?" Cornelius whispered eventually. Her blue eyes were filled with worry.

He realized his eyes were watering again. He sniffed and rubbed at them, trying to focus on the waves. "I'm fine." His voice was dull and raspy. Cornelius kept staring at him, though, and her worry didn't leave. He couldn't hide from her, and he didn't want to. "It just…it never stops," he croaked. She put her arm around him. He found himself leaning against her. "I thought it'd be— …I mean, I knew it wouldn't be  _perfect._ But I…I thought when we got Emma and Oliver, things would…be  _good,_ and they  _were_ good, but it just— I don't know where it all fell apart, I'm trying to figure out where it all went wrong…"

She wilted. She leaned her head on his shoulder.

He sat for a couple moments, taking her comfort in silence. His eyes narrowed, and another wave of tears stung them. "I know where it went wrong," he growled. "Sebastian just  _had_ to ruin our lives  _one last time._ This is all  _his_ fault!" He glowered into space, before his glare fractured and his expression crumbled. His lower lip trembled and his head started to hang. His voice was ten times as choked when he corrected himself. "No…no it…it wasn't just that…it was everything…

"It was…Nathan, and it was Sam, too. It was  _all_  the kids at school and the way they  _constantly_ look at him like he's a disease!" He was crying, now. Cornelius scooted closer and held his hand. "It was all the nightmares he had every night for two years, and the nightmares he  _still_ has! It was—" His voice broke. "It was  _me,_ and all the  _horrible_ stuff I said to him, stuff I wanna take back but I  _can't!"_

"It wasn't your fault…" she tried to object.

"Yes it was! And now he's— he's exactly like he  _was,_ and it scares me, but I feel like I can't do anything! I feel like he can't, either, like we're all stuck in this cycle and we can't break it! I don't want this to be our lives, I don't want it to  _always_ be like this! I want Cameron to be happy again, and I—" He sniffed, holding his head in his hands. "I want to be  _seen_ again, too!" he cried. Cornelius weakened. "It's selfish and I know it's not as important, but I wanna matter again, too!"

"You matter, Jonathan," she said, her own eyes stinging. "You matter  _just_  as much."

"No I don't," Jonathan sniffed, sitting back up. "I don't…"

She searched his face, her heart pulling. She squeezed his hand tighter and drew his arm closer. She put her head back on his shoulder, angling into him. Before she quietly announced: "You do to  _me."_

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

"Cameron, stop." He did, but not without a horrible slap of irritation. He practically  _tasted_ his anger when he turned around again. Oliver was looking at him, and the instant he saw his expression it was ten times worse. Oliver had never looked at him like this before— warningly, and patiently in such a condescending way. Now he was  _always_ looking at him like this. Cameron  _hated it._  "You're not going back to your room. You're gonna stay out here, we're gonna have a movie night."

Cameron always loved movie night. He'd cram himself between Emma and Oliver or he'd flop on Jonathan and refuse to move— he loved being close to his family, even if it was just a few hours. But now, he just flared with anger.  _"What?_ I ate dinner with you guys, that's all you said I had to do, I just want to—"

"No. You're going to stay out here. We're going to have movie night." The words were flat, and left no room for questions. Jonathan and Cornelius were already on the couch; Jonathan was staring at him with such deep concern he had to look away. Emma was lingering halfway between the kitchen and the living room. She was just as anxious. Cameron couldn't face her, either. He just turned back to Oliver, so he could regain his glare. Oliver kept a level head. "You're gonna sit down and watch with us."

"What, you're gonna  _force_ me to watch a movie with you?" Cameron demanded.

Oliver's mouth was setting into a harder line. "Don't spin it like that, Cameron."

"I'm not  _spinning it_ like  _anything_ , I'm  _asking_ if that's what you're  _doing."_

"No one is  _forcing_ you to do anything."

"Okay, so let me go to my room."

Oliver set his jaw back. He hesitated before he started to try: "No, Cameron, you're—"

Cameron rolled his eyes. "You  _are!_ You  _are_ forcing me— just  _admit_ you're forcing me to watch the stupid movie— I don't wanna  _watch_  the stupid movie! I wanna go to my room and I wanna be alone, and—"

"What's wrong with spending time with your family—!?"

"Oddly enough, I  _don't_  wanna spend time you guys," he grumbled.

Oliver's eyes narrowed.  _"Cameron,_ you—"

"No, go ahead, it's easy— force me to watch the movie!" Cameron invited. Oliver's eyes flashed with pain. "Force me to watch the movie, just like you force me to stay home and go to therapy and eat dinner with you even though you  _know_ I don't want to do  _any_ of it!" He said all of this with biting, sarcastic carelessness. "You obviously don't have a  _problem_ with forcing me to do stuff, just add this!"

"Cameron, don't put me on the same level as—" He cut himself off quickly.

But Cameron understood, and he was immediately scowling. "You don't wanna be on the same levelas  _Sebastian?"_  he demanded. Oliver said nothing, but the regret on his face spoke enough volumes. By now Jonathan was standing up and walking over to them. "'Cause you're not really trying to be all that different."

Jonathan took this opportunity to step in. "Cam,  _don't_ say that." Cameron glared right back at him. But already, Jonathan's was wilting into sorrow, instead. "You don't mean that, that's not fair." He tried to smile. "C'mon, we can watch something you pick out. We can make popcorn, and just—"

"I said  _no. Jonathan,"_ he spat.

Jonathan's smile vanished. He went silent. He just stared at him, horribly pained.

Emma tried to reach out to him. Her smile was watery. "Honey, we just wanna be a family—"

He jerked away from her sharply.  _"Stop,_ stop  _babying me,_ get  _off_ of me!" he snapped.

Jonathan stepped closer, like he was going to hug him. "Cam, we're trying to make sure—"

Cameron shoved him back. Oliver caught him, but Cameron was just scowling at his brother tearfully.  _"You_ leave me alone, especially!" Though he yelled this louder, his voice was much weaker, and noticeable more broken. Jonathan was recovering from the push; his eyes rounded out with hurt. "I'm finally giving you what you want— you don't have to  _take care of me_ or  _look after me_ anymore! You hate me when I'm here and you hate me when I'm gone— what do you want from me?"

"I want you  _back,"_ Jonathan replied weakly.

Cameron's glare faltered. But he got it back. "Well this is me. Sorry to be such a  _disappointment."_

Jonathan couldn't say anything. His stare was swamped with horrible sorrow.

Cameron turned away and went to his room. At first they all watched, starting to give up. But then Oliver's eyes steeled, and he followed. He caught up to him in time to stop him from shutting the door. As expected, Cameron glared at him with enough anger to take his breath away. The stare was so angry and injured, it seemed foreign. He met it though, however hard it was to do so. Now, he wasn't trying to appear stern, or angry. His sorrow was palpable. "Cameron…Cam, can't you talk to me?"

"Why should I talk when you don't listen?" Cameron croaked.

Oliver's expression broke even more. "I  _will_  listen, Cam, I promise."

"About  _what?"_

"About— about anything, about— what's bothering you, what I can do to help, and—"

"There's  _nothing_ you can do to help!" His voice scraped against his throat. Oliver's stare grew heavier. Cameron's lips trembled. A tear fell down his cheek. "There's nothing anyone can do so can you stop making me go to therapy, and talking about everything, and—!"

"Then Cameron, you have to  _tell_ me what you want me to do!" His whisper broke with desperation. Cameron wiped his eyes roughly. "Because at this point I have no idea— I'm not stupid, Cameron, I know what you're still doing." His eyes flashed; his posture grew more defensive. "And I'm trying to give you the benefit of the doubt, I'm trying to understand, I know you hurt, but at this point, not only do I not know what to do to make you happy, but I don't know how to make sure that you're  _safe_ , and that  _scares_ me, Cam! All I want is to make sure you're safe, I love you and I just want—"

" _Don't_ pretend you wanted me like you wanted Jonathan," he grumbled suddenly. Oliver was so surprised at the snap, he couldn't think of what to say. Cameron's lips shook even more when he looked away. "Don't pretend you love me like you love him because you  _don't,_ I  _know_  you don't…"

"Cameron— of  _course_ I do! Of course I love you the same, why would I—?"

"Because I'm the  _problem!"_ he burst out.  _"I'm_  the reason…we have to switch schools, I'm the reason we had to move here! I'm the one that the school always calls about, I'm the one Jonathan always has to take care of! I'm the one who's always in the hospital! I'm the one you always have to fight for and miss work for and worry over!  _I'm_ always the problem! I know you didn't want me— from the very beginning all you wanted was Jonathan, because he's actually  _normal,_ I was just the  _requirement_ you  _had_ to take, to keep  _him!_  You don't love me, I'm a  _chore,_ that's all I am!"

He was choking back tears. "Cameron, what have I  _ever_ done to make it seem like that's the case?"

"It's not what you've done, it's what  _I've_ done!" he cried. The house was silent. He knew for a fact that Emma, Jonathan, and Cornelius were listening. At least it meant he didn't have to repeat himself. "You don't love me because nobody  _can_ love me— nobody could love someone that's done what I've done!" Sebastian didn't love me, and I did  _everything_ he asked me to! I thought Jonathan was the only person that really loved me, but I'm just a  _burden_ to him!"

"Cameron, Jonathan  _loves you—"_

"Give me a break— I don't want to  _talk about this!"_ he whined, cringing and letting his expression break again. "Just leave me alone, just get  _out!_ I'm tired and sad and angry and you're not gonna listen to me, you're just gonna stand there and try to make me feel better but it's not gonna happen, so just  _please_ leave!" he sobbed. Oliver was frozen, staring forlornly at his son. "I don't wanna talk, I don't wanna talk right now I just wanna sleep, just let me go to sleep. That's  _all_ I want right now."

Oliver was desperate. "I don't want to leave you so upset, Cameron…"

"I've  _always_ been this upset, I'm just tired of hiding it like I have been!" he cried. Oliver's face fell. Cameron grabbed his door, obviously wanting to close it. He stared tearfully at the ground, not wanting to meet his dad's gaze. Everything about the way he was standing was begging him to just let this die. "Just get out." His voice was so choked, it barely got out. "Leave me alone, I just wanna sleep."

He agonized and hesitated. But he had no idea what else he was supposed to say. He didn't know how to reassure his son, how to let him know he was loved— that he was loved  _fiercely_ and that was why all of this was hurting him so much. Cameron wouldn't listen. He knew he wouldn't. Right now he was closed off…it killed him to leave him this way, but maybe it would be better in the morning.

"Okay…" he rasped eventually. Cameron still refused to look up. "Okay…we'll…we'll talk tomorrow. Okay?" He was silent. He felt that horrible sense of failure all over again. He was failing his son; he knew he was. The fact made him sick. "Goodnight, Cam…" He started to take a few steps back, knowing his wish would go unreturned. The second he stepped back far enough, Cameron was shutting the door. He didn't lock it— he knew the second he did, they would get Jonathan to pick it right back open. But the finality of the click was enough to let Oliver know he wasn't welcome back inside.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

The universe wasn't  _usually_  on Cameron Black's side. To put it lightly.

But it seemed like tonight it was deciding to let up on him a little.

The second he'd shut his door, Cameron opened his window. He didn't waste any time before he dropped to the ground and took off running the second his feet hit the grass. He ran away from his house as fast as he possibly could, fleeing down the street. He didn't stop once. Granted, by the time he got there he was more or less just staggering and stumbling. But he ran the entire three miles. He'd started out crying, using all his anger and sadness as fuel to keep his legs moving. By the time he finally stopped and sat, he was exhausted. He didn't have any tears left and his very bones were aching. It felt nice. To feel nothing.

He struggled to get his air back. He sagged against the garbage bin of the pizza place, shaking in his exhaustion. He hadn't even realized  _this_ was where he'd run to. He'd just wanted to get as far away from home as possible. His feet had decided to lead him here. He felt his gut tug when he saw the liquor store on the other side of the parking lot. It was a busy Saturday. Cameron had thought his tears had all dried up, but seeing it again now, and knowing he couldn't have any of it, he felt the strong urge to sob and scream and kick and screech. None of it was  _fair. None_ of it. He hated everything. He was  _sick_ of everything.

He sat there for a long time, unsteady and wheezing. He figured he could just torture himself a bit more, by sitting and looking at what he couldn't have. It wasn't like he had anywhere else to go. When, for the first time, the universe actually took a look at the  _mess_ it had made and realized 'Hey…maybe I should be nicer to this kid.' Which…better late than never. He didn't recognize the car when it pulled into the lot. He didn't even recognize the  _people,_ until the person at the head of the group recognized  _him,_ first. They waved, and he straightened, making the connection the second before they called out: "Hey, it's Jonathan!"

Cameron's legs ached when he stood. They walked over to him as a group. Jacob was wearing that same smirk he had a couple weeks ago. "I was wondering if I'd see you hangin' around here," he mused. "Are you lookin' for someone else to spot you? I could snag you some stuff."

The offer almost took his breath away. He almost said yes. When he realized he had absolutely no money on him. No money, and no place to hide it all, considering he had a three mile walk back. His heart barely got to start lifting before it was plummeting right back down. His chest pulled in acute pain when he forced out: "I don't have money with me." Jacob tilted his head to the side. He was still looking at him closely. Cameron was suddenly painfully aware of how much his eyes hurt and how red his face must be.

"What're you doin' out here, then?" Jacob prompted.

"I'm…just…I can't…I can't go home." His voice was pathetically small. "My parents, they…" He blanched, trying to think. He couldn't come up with anything. Eventually he just gave up. "I just can't go back right now," he croaked. He hated himself when he felt the sting of even more tears. "I just had to leave home and I…wound up here, I don't know…I don't know what I'm gonna do…"

Jacob pursed his lips thoughtfully, before he glanced back at the others. They all seemed equally as sympathetic. He was grinning again when he reached out to nudge his shoulder. "Well here, why don't you come with us?" Cameron's eyes widened. Jacob laughed a little. "We're going to a friend's house. If you don't have anywhere to go for right now, you can hang out there with us, if you want."

He had to buffer, in order to process the offer. "R-…Really?" He felt so stupid.

"Yeah, sure! If you want to. It's an open party; Dean won't mind. You can be our stowaway." At Cameron's expression his smirk just grew. "What do you say?" he encouraged. "You wanna come along?"

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

The music was loud. So were the people. Earsplittingly so.

And Cameron loved it.

Nobody was looking at him weird. Nobody was giving him the side-eye, or whispering about him. Nobody knew who he  _was._ Everyone he was introduced to was just happy to meet him. He got handshakes, and high-fives, and even  _hugs._ He couldn't even remember the last time he'd gotten a hug from someone that wasn't his family or Cornelius. He couldn't remember getting this many genuine smiles from strangers at one time. Or what it felt like to actually be tugged into a group conversation, and  _wanted_ there. He didn't walk fifteen steps into the house before someone was handing him a drink. When Jacob explained that he'd been kicked out – which Cameron wasn't about to correct – everyone reassured him it was on the house.

He listened to people complain about their professors from last semester— which made him realize most of these people were in college. He told made-up but thrilling and funny stories that got everyone laughing. He told jokes. Once he let slip he used to dabble in magic, he was doing tricks, too, which  _really_ amazed. He played beer pong; somehow he'd  _won._ The whole house screamed when he did. He hadn't even minded that they were chanting the wrong name – "Jonathan! Jonathan! Jonathan!" – all he cared about was that for the first time in forever he felt accepted.

He felt  _liked._ And actually,  _genuinely,_ happy.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

He didn't remember falling asleep. The last thing he remembered was laughing with a girl he'd met that night named Sarah. He didn't remember  _what_ they'd been laughing about, he just remembered laughing so hard he couldn't breathe. He remembered feeling unbelievably good, and unbelievably happy, but now all of a sudden he was waking up. His head  _hurt._ Even before he could open his eyes, he was groaning under his breath. He pried them open, but it was hard, considering it was so bright. The light felt like a flame shooting straight into his eyes. It made his head throb worse.

But once he realized it was because of the brightness, he realized what that brightness  _meant._

The sun was up.

He sat up, struggling to get his bearings. He didn't recognize the room. He'd fallen asleep somewhere unfamiliar, and sitting there coming to terms with the fact, left a bitter taste in his mouth that wasn't just from the alcohol. It came from the fact this was a hauntingly-familiar feeling. He'd had it time and again. He was just glad he was alone. The other side of the bed was still made. It had only been him.

The second he realized it was after noon, his heart was lodging in his throat.  _No! Shit!_ He shoved himself out of bed, stumbling as he rushed for the door. He hadn't meant to fall asleep! He'd meant to make it back home— he'd meant to get back hopefully before anyone noticed he was  _gone_. Emma must be going crazy, wondering where he was. Oliver was going to be so mad— and he was going to be so  _disappointed._ Jonathan…he had no idea what Jonathan was going to do, probably yell at him. Probably tell him he's the worst brother in the world, that he worried everyone, and he wishes he'd just be normal for once and—

He got out into the living room. The house was on the smaller side— the place that was closest to a 'dining room' was only a few feet away, and it was comprised of a small table and four chairs. Cameron remembered them driving up last night, and noticing that every single house looked exactly the same; small and pretty cheap. He had  _no_  idea where they were, he'd never even heard of an area like this before. But he did recognize the people in the living room and that was a relief at least.

Jacob was on the couch, Dean was sitting by him. He'd been just as welcoming as Jacob said he would be…Cameron liked him. Even now, he didn't seem irritated when he saw him, considering he'd apparently passed out in what could very well have been  _his_ bed. He just grinned and offered a wave. "Decided to wake up?" he laughed. Cameron tried to guess what his age was, but he was still too distracted by his headache. What remained of Jacob's friends were in the kitchen. Ryan and Hannah had left, Cameron remembered that much. Madison and Tyler were still there— Madison was complaining that Tyler was taking too long to make lunch and she was hungry  _now!_

"Yeah…sorry, for…" Cameron tugged down more on his sleeves. "I didn't mean to…uh…"

"Nah, I don't care!" Dean dismissed. "Think of it as the prize for winning beer pong." Cameron just smiled a little awkwardly. Dean leaned so he was sitting more forward on the couch. "You know, you don't look like much, but you can hold your own! What'd you say you were— eighteen?" Cameron nodded.

"His parents kicked him out," Jacob informed him.

Dean frowned with actual concern. "You have somewhere to stay?"

"I…" Cameron glanced at the clock, and his stomach twisted. "They just…kicked me out for the night…I think…I was gonna…try and go back," he offered weakly. Dean's frown stuck. Jacob didn't seem too sure, either. "Thank you. For— letting me stay, I appreciate it, but I have to…probably get home…"

"You can stay longer if you want," Dean offered. "If you don't want to go back to them just yet. I know where you're coming from. I had shit parents, too." Cameron weakened a little. He glanced at the ground. "I mean— if they kicked you out, obviously they're not too concerned about where you are or if you're okay. Kicking out your kid is fucked up. You can stay here for a little longer, if you want."

Jacob sat up suddenly and leaned over to the coffee table. Cameron watched, and his eyes widened when he actually noticed what was there for the first time. "Here. You look like you could use one of these," Jacob said, grabbing up a cigarette and handing it out to him. Except it wasn't a cigarette— it was a blunt. Cameron's shoulders locked up; he didn't make a move for it. Jacob held it out a little farther. "We have plenty— I know a guy, don't worry about it. You ever smoke one before?" Cameron managed a tiny shake of the head. "You'll love it. You looked stressed, this'll fix you up before you know it."

He stared at it, feeling that horrible weight on his chest. That tugging on his heart. He wanted to  _run_ over and get it. He wanted it more than anything. But…the  _time…_ they were probably worried…  _'It's a_ rabbit hole, _Cameron, you can't let yourself fall down it. We…are not letting you fall down it.'_ Oliver's voice rang in his ears and his heart turned heavy. He could hear Jonathan yelling at him…screaming at him…

He could hear him yelling how much he hated taking care of him…how much he loved pity…

"C'mon," Jacob egged. His lips curled into that smirk when he said: "Fuck 'em."

Cameron hesitated. Before he smiled. "Yeah…" he agreed, softly. He walked over. Jacob handed him the blunt and he immediately turned to get the lighter. The weight on Cameron's chest began to leave. His smile was coming back. And the life was back in his voice when he laughed: "Fuck them."

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Oliver was pacing. He'd just hung up with the police for the fifth time that day, and he'd  _still_  gotten nothing. He was burning with anger and panic and fear and everything in between. He sighed, hunching his shoulders and drawing his hands through his hair. Emma watched him, her expression hollow as tears kept streaming down her face. Jonathan sat with arm around her, his own eyes rimmed with red. Cornelius' hands were clenched tightly in her lap, her face ashen.

Nobody dared to speak, at first. Oliver was the one to break the silence.  _"Useless!"_ he practically spat. Jonathan ducked his head. "They're  _useless,_ they're not helping at all, what do our  _taxes_  go towards!?" Emma hid her face in her hands again. He stuck his tongue hard into his cheek. He glanced at his watch, but shook his head hard. In less than an hour, Cameron will have been missing for twenty-four hours. "I'm going out again," he growled. "I'll do another drive, I didn't look for him hard enough last time—"

"You were out for hours, Oliver, you—" Emma tried to object.

"Well it wasn't  _enough!_ I have to drive longer, I have to look for him harder, he could be—"

The door opened. The second it did, everyone went silent. Their heads snapped up and all their eyes widened with the same shock and confusion when Cameron walked through the door. Entirely nonchalant, as if he  _hadn't_ been missing since last night. The second he did, Emma was crying out and scrambling to her feet. Jonathan just stared numbly as his mom rushed for him. Cameron was just beginning to turn around when she flew at him and wrapped him up in a tight hug. He didn't hug her back, but she didn't care— she was stumbling over herself, crying into his shoulder.  _"Cameron! Cameron, honey, where have you_ been!? We couldn't find you anywhere, Oliver was driving all over town, we were so  _worried, we—"_

She broke off, choking on whatever else she was about to say. She pulled back, her expression twisting. Nobody else needed to be told what was wrong; they were all beginning to realize it for themselves. She just confirmed it. "What is that  _smell?"_ Jonathan got up to his feet, his face beginning to cloud. Cornelius' nose wrinkled. Cameron pushed her arms off of him with a tiny grumble. When she let go, he edged back, his steps slow. He wasn't looking at her, but the expression he wore was fuzzy and disoriented. At first, she wondered whether or not he was hurt. But accompanied with the smell, she knew it wasn't the case. "Cameron…look at me," she pleaded brokenly.

Cameron just pressed his back to the wall and looked off to the side.

"Cameron." Oliver's voice was tight with both worry and anger. At the moment, the anger was more noticeable. "Where have you  _been?"_ Cameron's eyes narrowed in both irritation and slight discomfort.  _"Cameron._   _Look_ at me." Unlike Emma, it wasn't as much a beg as it was an order. When Cameron refused, he grabbed his shoulder to make him turn. He pushed a little roughly; Cameron yelped, but the shove was effective. When his son looked up to glower at him, he saw how red his eyes were. "Were you smoking?" he demanded uselessly. He already knew.

Cameron tried to shove him arm off just like he did with Emma.  _"No._ Get off," he grumbled.

"You're  _high,"_ Oliver growled, tensing even more at the faint slur in his voice.

" _No,"_ he repeated, in the exact same way.

"Cameron, tell me where you've been.  _Where_ did you go, what did you do?"

"What d'you care?" Cameron mumbled, trying to walk past him.

He stopped him. "Cameron. You're  _not_ leaving until you—"

"Just  _stop, move."_ He tried side-stepping harder. Oliver pushed him back in front of him, and Cameron grabbed his hand, trying to rip it off. Oliver grabbed his  _other_ shoulder, and Cameron started fighting more. He pushed and shoved, starting to yell when Oliver just held him in place more firmly. "Let go of me!" he yelled, his voice starting to break when his struggles were becoming moot. Emma tried to help. Jonathan's eyes widened, his breath catching in his throat as Cameron kept shouting.  _"Stop! I don't want to talk about it, you're just gonna yell at me, let go, stop— stop grabbing me, let go, stop!"_

"Cameron— Cameron, we're  _not_ letting you—"

" _Stop it, let go of him!"_ The scream was sudden and choked. Oliver jerked, faltering for a split moment as he turned towards the yell. Jonathan's eyes were filled with tears. He'd tried to keep out of it, but the yell ripped itself out of his throat impulsively. He was staring at his brother with pained desperation. For a heartbeat, the two of them just held each other's gaze. Cameron's foggy with the remnants of whatever high he'd gotten. Jonathan's raw with pain and regret.

The room dropped about ten degrees. At Jonathan's expression, Oliver's heart twisted and is mouth went dry. He let go of Cameron. The second he did, and the second Cameron could tear his gaze away from his brother, Cameron turned and rushed away. Jonathan cringed deeply as he brushed past him, and he was hit with the awful smell of marijuana. His stomach twisted like a pretzel. He ducked his head low, feeling a fresh wave of tears hit him. Nobody called Cameron back. Nobody spoke to each other.

Cameron had come home. But nobody could find the tiniest scrap of relief.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

It became routine. Just like Jonathan's last routine was, taking care of his brother and trying his best to comfort him after he was hurt from the adults Sebastian left him with, this new routine was just as harmful to the  _both_ of them. Cameron would leave and not come back, often all day, sometimes all night. They had no idea where he went. They had no idea when he'd be home. Every time they tried to talk sense into him, every time they tried to reason with him, it never worked. There was just fighting and crying and yelling. Oliver and Emma grew too scared to press, fearing he'd run away entirely if they did. Eventually, they just began to allow it, however against their will. Cameron shut himself away from everyone.

He'd come home still high. Whenever Jonathan even so much as walked in his direction he was veering for his room. He hardly came out; it was only to leave, or eat whatever minimal thing he could scrounge from the kitchen. He'd yelled at Oliver multiple times he was doing this to be happy, but he  _wasn't_ happy. He was dead-eyed, and dull. He was apathetic at the best, and at the most there was always a horrible sense of sorrow plaguing his expression. They tried to follow him but he always lost them. He would never answer their questions. He never came back hurt or actively upset…just high. Which was just as bad.

It was horrible, to be back in this complacence. To know he was once again enabling his brother but not being able to do a single thing about it. Every night he checked Cameron's room and more often than not, when he was missing, Jonathan would immediately begin to cry. Cornelius would sit with him. She would comfort him as best she could. But there was only so much she could do. There never seemed to be an end to it.

Eventually, Cornelius had to leave. Cameron was actually  _there_ , for once. He was quiet and spacey, but he'd come with them to the airport. After hugging Emma and Oliver and thanking them for their hospitality, ignoring their weak and awkward attempts at apologizing, she hugged him. Jonathan felt a lump in his throat when he noticed she hugged him especially tight. She pulled away and smiled. Years of friendship mingled with her sadness when she said: "I'm really glad I got to see you, Cam…and I really hope you start to feel better, soon." Cameron just got his arms back and looked away. Her face fell a little…before she turned to Jonathan instead and regained it quickly.

He hugged her, but ended up not wanting to leave it there. He walked her into the airport and up to the service station, lingering by her side for as long as he could. But once she checked her bag, the next step was security. They stopped together near the line, and she sighed heavily as she turned to face him. She wore a sympathetic, bracing smile. When she saw how sad he already seemed, she laughed a little as she took his hands in hers. "I had a good summer," she murmured.

He laughed bitterly. "You don't have to lie…we're a mess. It was terrible."

"No," she objected. "I had a good summer because I got to spend it with  _you."_  He softened, and she did too. "Jonathan…I know it's really hard right now. I tried to make it easier for you, but…but I know it's  _still_  hard." He wilted. "I just want you to know…everything is gonna be fine." Jonathan eyed her with doubt, but she stayed certain. "I know it. You and Cameron are going to be just fine. Because you're  _you two._ Things get hard, and you never give up on each other. You always worked hard to protect him. He worked hard to get better. He just…forgot why he  _did._ Once he remembers, he'll come back around."

"I don't know…" he whispered. Tears blurred his eyes. "I'm scared he won't come back from this…"

"You'll bring him back," she promised. "I believe you will." He just stared at her in pained silence. She tilted her head and squeezed his hands. "Don't lose hope, Jonathan," she ordered. "I never hoped I'd find a friend like you. But I did. You always have to hang onto your hope, because if you don't, then you won't have a single chance." He hesitated, but nodded a little. She beamed, before she leaned out to give him a small kiss on the cheek. His eyes widened, and she giggled a little, affection bright in her gaze. "I'll see you soon. And I  _promise,_  the next time I do, you  _and_ Cam are gonna be just fine."

She waited until he cracked a smile. A stunned, but adoring smile. Then she grinned, turning and heading into security and leaving him behind. He watched her go, refusing to move and refusing to stop smiling, until he watched her get through the entire line. Only after she waved one last time, and after she disappeared from view to make for her gate, did he turn to go back to his family. Feeling a lot lighter. Thinking to himself that maybe Cornelius could have been right. Just maybe.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

_It felt like the whole room was spinning. He was dizzy, and felt funny. He felt like if he turned and rolled off the bed, he'd float, instead of fall. Cameron's eyes closed; he let out a slow sigh. His head started to fall to the side…he wanted to sleep…when a voice made his head drag front. "Wanna…this?" The ten-year-old couldn't hear very well. He looked up blearily; his eyes were all fuzzy. He couldn't really see. He had to blink a few times before he looked at what they were holding. His stomach twisted, but very distantly._

_His hand dragged to grip his other arm. "I don'…like shots…" His mouth felt funny, too._

_They smiled. "This is a_ special _shot. You'll like this one."_

_He blinked. By the time he was worming his eyes open again, a tiny whine leaked out of his mouth when he felt a pressure on his arm. They were tying something around it really tight. He tried to move, but they put a hand on his shoulder. "C'mon, Cam." Their voice was soft but it sounded like a warning, too. It sounded like the way his dad talked when he was trying to get him to do what he wanted. "Don't move— I might miss." He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to calm down when he felt his arm just get number. "Don't you want to feel good?" He_ didn't _feel good. He wanted to go home. He wanted to see Johnny. That was all he wanted._

_He kept his eyes closed and tried to think about his brother— about hugging him or holding his hand. He thought about him telling him he understood, that he wasn't mad, that he still loved him, that he'd_ always  _love him. He thought as hard as he could, until he felt a sharp pain stab into him and he yelped, tears immediately springing into his eyes as they snapped open. His head moved faster this time when he looked down to see them withdrawing the needle. His blurry, fogged mind leapt to wonder whether or not he was bleeding— starting to kick his automatic crying into gear, the way all ten-year-olds reacted to a shot they didn't want._

_But the second he started to suck in a breath to cry, his expression was going slacker. His eyes were widening and his gasp in ended up coming out as a mix between a sigh and a groan. His fingers on that arm stayed numb, but curled. It hit him immediately. His eyes stayed wide but his head fell to the side. All his breath left him at once. He felt_ really  _warm. Like he was underneath the fluffiest blanket in the world. The man was saying something but Cameron couldn't even hear. He couldn't even feel it when his shoulders were grabbed and he was pulled towards him. He didn't even care_ why  _either._

_He could barely even_ breathe _, he felt so good. That was the only thing he could focus on._

"What do you mean it's a  _baby high?"_ Jacob snickered.

"It  _is!"_ Cameron snapped, his snicker breaking off into a cough. He ducked his head, sniffing as he looked at the blunt between his fingers. "This is a  _baby_ high— it's  _nothing."_ Jacob rolled his eyes. Madison had left only about ten minutes ago. She was the last remaining, of their group; now it was just him and Jacob, in his apartment. Cameron was gonna leave, soon. After just one more smoke. "You have no idea what it's like to  _actually_ be high," he scoffed.

"And you  _do?"_ Jacob laughed.

"Of course. Marijuana is great, but  _heroin…"_ His voice grew painfully wistful. Jacob's eyebrows rose about five inches. "Heroin is like nothing you've ever  _experienced."_  He leaned against the counter, closing his eyes and sighing. "I used to do it all the time…I don't anymore, but… _man,_ I'd kill for just another  _taste…"_

"You used to do  _heroin?"_

"It was the best thing in the world…I miss it more and more every day."

" _You_ did heroin?" he repeated, even more incredulous.  _"Little_ you?"

He threw him a look. "I'm not as little as you think," he quipped. Jacob still just looked at him, faintly impressed. Cameron took another drag, knowing that he was near the end. He wouldn't have any left, soon. "I would give anything to have it back, just a  _little…"_ He was quiet for a second, before his eyes flashed and he looked up at him. "Your— your guy, the guy that gets you weed…you think…he'd be able to get heroin?" Jacob frowned. "Or, do you think he'd  _know_  how to get it?"

"I don't know. Heroin's really different, from…"

"It  _is,_ it's so much  _more!"_ he stressed. He turned towards him now, his eyes much brighter. "C'mon— it's  _this,_ but fifty times better! Don't you wanna feel how  _amazing_ it is? You can't even wrap your  _head_ around it until you've experienced it! Can't you at least try? At least  _ask?"_ With the tiniest little  _chance_ of getting heroin back, Cameron's mind was quickly coming apart at the seams. It was racing more and more, his smile was growing with both happiness and desperation. Which just got worse, the more torn and thoughtful Jacob seemed to get. "We could get some, and— and I could show you how to do it, I'll teach you everything, I'll make sure—"

"Hold your horses, Jonathan," he warned, surprised at how fast his mood flipped.

"I  _can't!"_ he burst. "I can't, you have no idea how  _excited_ it makes me, you have no idea how  _long_ it's been, how much I've  _missed_ it…" he whined. He made a face, his shoulders drooping.  _"Please,_ please just  _ask_ you have  _no idea…_ and I'll teach you, I'll let you see, too!" he added even weaker. "I'll let you see how great it is, you'll thank me!" He was beginning to cave— he could see it in his eyes. Cameron's smile widened. "If you can find a way to get it, I promise!"

Jacob weakened even more. Cameron was practically beaming. But his eyes flashed and he cleared his throat, shaking his head a little. Cameron was already starting to deflate. "Heroin is a lot more expensive than weed." His shoulders went slack. "Money's hard enough for right now. You don't really help a lot as it is." He rushed to add: "I know your parents make it tough…but you don't really pay for a lot of stuff  _already._ "

Cameron was silent at first. He glanced down at the ground, feeling a rush of self-consciousness and embarrassment. Even more so when he realized he was a hundred percent right. The entire time he'd been with them – which was a very regular occurrence now – he drank and smoke without paying for any of it. Sometimes he managed to steal money from Oliver's wallet, or sometimes  _Jonathan's._ But mostly it was just by the grace of them. They had a  _lot_ of grace…stretching it so far as to ask for a drug that was probably at least twice as costly might push it to the brink. It was too much to ask.

He knew it was a lot to ask. But it was like dangling a steak in front of a dog that hadn't eaten in seven months. He was itching for it, he  _needed_  it, just the  _notion_  of having a needle in his arm again was driving common sense out the window. The words were falling out of his mouth before he could stop them. Small, and quiet, but still there. "I might not have money...but I have other ways I can pay," he murmured. Jacob frowned, obviously not understanding. Cameron hesitated for a moment more before he took a few tiny steps closer to him.

Before Jacob could react, he was leaning across the gap between them. He grabbed the front of Jacob's shirt and pulled him closer as he pressed his lips to his.

Jacob tensed, too surprised at first, to move. Cameron took advantage of the moment of surprise. He kept his fingers fisted into his shirt but he pushed him back, turning so that he could press him up against the wall. He pressed flush against him, kissing him harder and deeper. He hadn't kissed anyone in years, and yet it was coming back like second nature. He was pressing against him, he was knitting his hands roughly in his hair. After a couple of heated seconds, Jacob twisted his head, his voice stunned and a little ragged as he gasped a hesitant, "Jonathan..."

Cameron shook his head, bringing his head back so he could kiss him again, even deeper this time. He pressed harder against him and Jacob grabbed onto his shoulder, digging his fingers into his skin deeply as Cameron moved to kiss and bite up and down his neck. "Don't think about it," he exhaled against his skin. Jacob closed his eyes, tipping his head back and ultimately giving him more exposure. His faint moans were getting louder the more Cameron went. "Just let me show you..." he sighed.

Jacob didn't answer him. That was alright; Cameron was getting all the response he needed. Once he was through kissing and marking his neck Cameron went back to kiss him. He kept his lips on his but stepped back, pulling on his shirt and tugged him blindly back into the hallway. Jacob was kissing him back, now. By the time they got to the bedroom Cameron's shirt was off. He didn't even care where it had landed; he just pushed Jacob onto the bed and quickly dropped to press on top of him. He dipped his head and began to kiss down his jaw, down his neck and chest and stomach.

He went on autopilot. There was no emotion. It was years of apathy and practice that let him do this. Let him disassociate. Because no matter what he did, and no matter what was done to him in return...he only had one thought on his mind. What he was actually doing this for.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Jonathan sat in the dark for ages. It felt like years before the door opened with a small creak. His eyes narrowed and his mouth set into a firm line when his brother came into the house. He was walking slow, and his head was hung. He shut the door and started to walk towards his room. Jonathan leaned over and turned the light on before he could. The instant the room was bathed with light, Cameron was wincing away from it and ducking his head. Jonathan's stomach twisted. But he kept his voice steady when he asked: "Where have you been?" His voice was flat. It was almost midnight. Cameron had been gone since this morning.

Cameron had leaned back against the door in his surprise, but now he was pushing himself back up. His steps were unsteady. His eyes were droopy. Jonathan's own eyes narrowed, the closer he walked. "'ve been…out with friends," he mumbled. Jonathan's jaw set back. Cameron tried to brush past him. "I w's just havin' fun, you don't need to—"

Jonathan grabbed hard to his arm, pulling him back. He pulled him a little, and in doing so he got him to look at him. Sure enough, his heart was twisting. His eyes. He could do whatever else he wanted— he could hide the smells he could duck his head he could refuse to talk, but he couldn't do anything to hide the fact from his eyes. His pupils were so small. Little, tiny pinpricks. They were unfocused and little, and they looked exactly like they always used to when they were little. Whenever Sebastian gave him heroin and left Jonathan in charge of sitting with him and making sure he didn't overdose or choke, and Jonathan would curl up to him and hug him, and Cameron would look at him, those were the eyes he would see. He wouldn't see his brother's eyes, bright and happy and eager. They'd just be so dull and foreign…and his pupils would look exactly like that.

Usually he tried to forget things like that. He certainly didn't like to dwell on them. They were painful. But there were certain things he could never forget— that would come back and haunt him unexpectedly time and again. Like the way his brother sounded when he cried, so empty and heartbroken and lost. The way his wrists had looked and the way his arms had been covered with blood. The way he'd screamed as the man hurt him and Jonathan had been forced to listen from the closet, powerless to do anything to help. And the way his eyes had  _always_ looked when he was on heroin.

He remembered those things perfectly. There wasn't a doubt in his mind on whether it matched.

His heart was plummeting fifty stories. His stomach seized and his grip on his brother's arm tightened tenfold. Tears were rushing to blur his vision, and he was almost grateful. At least then he wouldn't have to see the damning evidence that was right in front of him. Not that it changed anything, though. Not that it made it any less real. "Cameron…" he rasped. Cameron's eyes narrowed a little…but for some reason it was hard to tell whether or not it was in anger or in sadness. Jonathan started to pull him a little closer. "Cameron…Cameron  _what_ are you doing?" Tears were choking at his words. They could barely get out. "What are you  _doing,_ Cameron, what are you  _doing!?"_ The yell was soft and strained.

He expected him to be angry. To snap at him or yell or do something to avoid addressing the actual issue. But to Jonathan's shock, he just began to crumble, instead. Something broke, in the far reaches of his expression. His voice was just a croak when he replied. "I don' know…" Jonathan began to cry even more. Hearing how fuzzy but sorrowful and confused his voice was, he could barely hold back a resounding sob. Cameron's lips began to tremble. "I don' know…'m just tryin' t' to make it easier…"

Jonathan's throat burned. He shook his head. "Cameron…this isn't  _you…"_  he tried. "This isn't  _you,_ Cameron, you're not…you're not  _like_ this, I  _know_ you're not, you—"

"I don't know who I am 'nymore," Cameron suddenly whispered, every word shaking. Jonathan was rendered silent. He felt plenty of anger for his brother and what he was doing. But right now, he was only feeling his deep sorrow, and regret. It just tripled when Cameron confessed in a tiny sob, "I don' wanna be myself 'nymore…"

' _I hate myself! I hate myself! I hate myself!'_

' _Cameron— no. Cameron, don't say that! Don't say you hate yourself, Cameron,_ don't.'

' _I do! I do, I do hate myself, I hate myself so much!'_

Tears were drenching Jonathan's face. He was frozen for a moment, before he moved to bring Cameron even closer. He wrapped his arms around him tightly— almost too tight. He squeezed him desperately and ducked his head into his shoulder. Cameron didn't return the embrace; his arms stayed at his sides. But he did sag into him, hiding his own face as he started to cry, very weakly under his breath. Jonathan's heart pained even more when he had to listen to it, and he had to realize it was the same exact way he'd used to cry when they were little. He just hugged him harder, nestling his little brother closer and choking out a weak: "I love you…I love you enough for the both of us…"

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

_He laid on his back, staring up at the ceiling. In the dark, he couldn't really see. He wanted to turn on his side, but he was afraid of waking them up. He was uncomfortable, though. He was pulling and twisting his fingers, trying to resist the urge to move too much more. He could never sleep. But if he tossed and turned, they might get angry. One time someone had. He still remembered how much his dad had yelled at him, when they'd said something. He didn't want that to happen again. He just had to lay here and wait for the sun to come up. That's what he usually did. He hardly ever slept, even if_ they  _did. He was too nervous, with them right there._

_But it was taking ages. It was only four. He wanted to go home. He missed Johnny._

_He glanced to the left, checking to make sure they were still fast asleep. Before, cautiously, he scooted out of the bed. He took care to be really quiet…to sneak out of the room without making a sound. He got out into the hall started to creep away from the room. It was dark, but he looked at some of the photos that were hanging on the walls. He had to go on his toes, to see. But they were pictures of what looked like a happy family. He saw the woman Sebastian had left him with, standing and smiling with her husband— she'd said he was on a business trip. They looked happy…they were holding hands. Cameron wondered why he was here, if that guy made her smile like that. But Dad had told him he wasn't allowed to ask that question. That he wasn't allowed to ask_ any  _questions,_ ever.

_So he couldn't ask where the other kids were, either. There were two— a boy and a girl. He wasn't sure how old they were now, so maybe they'd left already. But there were pictures of the girl with a backpack on, apparently leaving for the first day of school. And there was a picture of the boy wearing a high school football jersey. Both their rooms were empty. Jessica – that was the woman's name…usually Cameron didn't remember them – had promised with a smile that the house would be completely empty all night. Which…he was a little sad about. The kids looked nice. They'd probably be fun to play with. He'd never played football, before…but it looked fun. And then he could have taught Johnny when he got home._

_One of the doors was open a little. He hesitated, before nudging his way in. It was filled with a bunch of boxes. He frowned, glancing over his shoulder. But Jessica hadn't noticed he'd left. Curiosity got him walking in and looking around. There were a lot of boxes, all labelled. There was one that said Donations. Another said Clothing. One said Kitchen. But his eyes got stuck on one that made him perk. Toys! He smiled a little before veering for it. He opened the box and looked inside, and his smile immediately got ten times bigger._

_It was filled with all kinds of toys. There were dolls and stuffed animals, probably from her daughter. He shifted all around and his eyes drilled for the toys her son must have had. He grinned, not even thinking now as he delved into it and got out a bunch of them. He had a_ lot  _of toy dinosaurs. Cameron giggled to himself as he set them all down and thought of how Jonathan could probably name all of them right off the top of his head. He just knew the T-Rex. And the raptor. All he other ones were just 'The one with the spiky tail' and the 'The long-neck one.'_

_There were toy cars, too. Cameron knelt on the ground and grinned, taking the T-Rex and putting him on top of the cool green car. He started whispering out a voice for it, trying to keep quiet and keep it mostly in his head, so he wouldn't make too much noise. "I'm not stickin' around…!" he whispered, lowering his voice to make it a little deeper. He started to push the car along the ground, giggling as he popped wheelies. "There's a_ big _asteroid coming, but I'm not worried, 'cause I got a million and one horsepower!" He made quiet little zooming noises as he scooted the car around._

_He grabbed the nearest dinosaur and made the car run over it. He whispered an agonized cry, making the now-wounded 'long-necked one' flop around. "You ran me over!" he made it wail. He sat it on top of another toy car and started to slam it against the other one. "You made a big mistake, 'cause my car has a million and_ two  _horsepower! I just added another horse last week!" He was too busy making quiet exploding noises and demonstrating an accurate depiction of dinosaur road rage, when a sudden voice made him freeze._

" _Cameron?"_

_He jerked, dropping everything immediately. He went about two shades paler, his heart jumping up into his throat. For a second, he didn't turn around. All he did was sit there, frozen because the very first thing he thought about was his father glaring at him and snapping that he had messed up. And he had. He whirled around, curling into himself a little when he saw her staring at him from the doorway. "I'm sorry!" he squeaked. She tilted her head to the side. He looked back at the toys, and then at her. He stood up quickly, his hands wringing. "I just—…I saw all these, I— I'm sorry, I didn't mean to."_

_She looked at him in silence for a couple moments, before she smiled. Cameron was still tense when she walked towards him, despite the apparent warmth. "It's alright, sweetie," she cooed. She ran her hand across his shoulders to rest it on his left one. His eyes darted back to the toys, but she was already gently pushing him back towards the door. "Those are old, maybe you can take some home with you." He started to smile, at this. "But for now, I think I've got a better game to play…" The smile left. He walked with her, but his heart was heavier. And right before she closed the door behind them, he glanced one last time at the pile, frowning with longing and disappointment._

_She took him back, and he tried to smile again. He told himself that maybe she would fall asleep again afterwards. Maybe it wouldn't be very long this time, and when she did fall asleep, he might be able to sneak back out and play some more._

His hands were shaking by the time he got to Jacob's house. Today it was worse. Today, the thoughts were refusing to leave. It was harder to even breathe, around everything that was pushing down on his chest. He was rushing, nearly running, by the time he got through his door. Jacob was on the couch. Madison and Ryan were there too. A wave of relief slammed into Cameron so hard it took the rest of his breath away when he saw that Ryan and Madison were already getting ready to inject. They had everything on the table already. He'd mute all his thoughts soon enough.

He was smiling in exhausted relief as he shut the door and hurried over. "Good!" His voice was nearly ragged. Jacob watched him run up. "I was worried!" He started to sit down. "You have no idea how much I need this, today…" He started to reach for one of the syringes.

Jacob reached out and grabbed his wrist before he could. Cameron faltered, a little confused at first as he just looked at him. He raised his eyebrows. "Aren't you forgetting something?" he prompted.

Cameron's stomach fell. He looked from him to the heroin, horrible longing and pain beginning to cloud his expression. He caught Madison's eye, but she just looked away from him, not sparing him a second thought, despite his distress. He turned back to Jacob imploringly. "I'm…I just…" His expression turned desperate. "Can I…do it  _after…?"_

Jacob said nothing. The answer came when, getting a firmer hold around his wrist, he pulled him up and towards the bedroom. Cameron glanced over his shoulder, wanting to scream when he saw Madison start to measure up her dose. He had to rip his eyes away; when he did he felt them sting. He felt his throat burn as Jacob pulled him inside and locked the door behind him. It took everything in him to walk towards the bed and sit. And it took everything in him not to cry as Jacob pushed him down, smiling his same, awful smirk before he bent down and kissed him.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

It was almost five pm when Cameron got out of bed. His hair was messy and his eyes were fuzzy. Jonathan looked up from his book when he came in. He watched in silence as his brother went to the fridge and started to try and find something to eat. He still looked half-asleep. Jonathan knew it was just because he hadn't had a hit in a long time. He hadn't seen him since yesterday around noon. He had no idea what time he got home. He never knew, anymore. He just went to bed and hoped for the best. Sometimes he waited. But most of the time it go to be too late.

Oliver walked into the kitchen, once he realized he was actually there. Jonathan couldn't look at his face— it was too painful to see all the worry and regret and disappointment that was there. But he heard it in his voice, anyway. "Are you going out?" Oliver asked, his voice weak. Emma was walking up behind him. Her eyes were pools of misery as she stared at her son. Jonathan could already see her eyes were glassy with tears.

Cameron didn't look at either of them. He hummed a small 'Uh-hm' under his breath.

"When…do you think you'll get home?" Oliver asked.

Cameron shrugged a shoulder.

"You think…you could be back before midnight? Tonight?"

Cameron just shrugged again. Apparently he abandoned the idea of food. He started to walk past them, making for the door. Emma reached out to put a hand gently against his shoulder. He didn't look at her; he kept looking straight. Very purposefully. Jonathan could have sworn his posture got stiffer, though. "…Baby?" Emma's voice was pathetically weak. Still, Cameron didn't look at her. "I just…you know I love you…I just…we just want you to be safe…we wanna see you, more…"

Cameron kept staring. He didn't even give an acknowledgement he'd heard.

Reluctantly, she drew back. The instant her fingers were letting go of him, he was walking again.

All three of them watched in silence as he walked right out the door.

All three equally as pained but equally at a loss of what to do.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

He went to Jacob's house that night and expected the same thing. He expected to have the same people there, he expected to have a dose waiting for him…after he did whatever Jacob wanted him to do, then there would just be drinking and laughing and in short, a  _much_ easier night than he would have if he didn't have heroin. So he was caught off-guard when he walked into the house and he didn't see the regular crowd. He saw Jacob, waiting on the couch like he usually did. But by him he saw someone he'd never seen before. He was an older guy, maybe in his thirties or forties. They'd been talking but the second he was coming in, they were both falling silent and looking at him. The older guy more intently than Jacob.

His face fell as he shut the door. "Hey…"

Jacob stood up and walked over to him. He was smiling from ear-to-ear. "Hey!" He walked so fast he met him at the door. Cameron had started to walk towards them, but now he was grabbing his arm and pulling him back.

Cameron winced a little at the harsh tug. His eyes flickered between him and the guy. By now, he'd stood up from the couch. "What's going on?" he asked. He lowered his voice into a hiss. "Who's he?"

"That's…the guy I know," he returned. Cameron frowned as he glanced at him again. The guy was still staring him down. "Listen, Johnny…" Cameron looked back. He was growing nervous at the look that was on Jacob's face. "You wanna get high, right? Just like I do?" He was staring at him like he was a lifeline. Cameron was still for a while, but then he nodded a little bit. "Yeah— well, I can't afford as much as I usually do. I tried to tell Harold that I was good for it, but…you can only say that so many times!" He trailed off, like he was trying to laugh it off.

Cameron just stared at him in faint confusion. He didn't see what he was trying to get at.

Jacob hesitated for a second before he just came out with it, in a small mumble. "Look…I told him you'd… _pay_ him."

Immediately, Cameron was jerking. "You told him I'd  _what!?"_

"I told him you'd…you know,  _pay_ him, until I get more money! And he said yes!"

"I'm not— …that's not…I'm not going to do that! I'm not!" he flared.

"I already told him, Jonathan," he hissed. "He said yes so what's the big deal!?"

"What's the—  _why_ did you tell him I'd do that?" he demanded.

Jacob glared at him. "Because you  _are."_ The sudden change in his voice got Cameron doing another double-take. He was caught off-guard, by the sudden acidity in his voice. He tugged him a little closer, his jaw setting back more. "Come on. The only reason I'm out so much is because I've constantly been paying for  _you,_ too. You  _owe_ me this. I've been paying this entire time, now  _you're_ gonna pay— and you're gonna  _keep_ paying for however long I  _want_ you too. Otherwise there won't be  _anything,_ you  _get_ that?"

Cameron's eyes were burning. He struggled to say something. Anything. Hurt and panic were writing itself on his face, but Jacob didn't seem to care at all. "I…don't…I don't…" He couldn't finish a single thought. Jacob glared at him harder, curling his fingers down more into his arm. Cameron looked at the guy and felt sick when he realized he was already walking over towards him. When he realized that Jacob was starting to push him his way. And he didn't have a single say in any of it.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Cameron was crying.

He wasn't always home at a time of night where Jonathan actually saw him, so he was surprised when he walked by his room and saw that he was actually there for once. But he was even more surprised when he realized he could hear his brother sobbing. His cries were weak and soft, but they were there. He stopped short on the way to his own room, standing in the hall and agonizing for a long time. For some reason, he felt like he didn't belong. Like, despite their history, he had no right to go in there and try to make him feel better. But then he remembered Cornelius' smile. And the confident way she'd said he would look after him, until he was okay enough to get better.

Her smile was mainly what go him to turn and let himself into the room.

The lights were off. Cameron was curled up under the covers, sobbing into the blanket he was using to hide himself. Jonathan's heart was lodged in his throat when he walked up to him. His throat was almost too raw to let him speak. He was surprised when it actually worked. "Cam…" Cameron kept crying. Jonathan weakened. "Cameron, do you wanna talk about it?" He wasn't really expecting an answer. He wasn't surprised when he wasn't given one. He closed his eyes and ducked his head. He tried to figure out what he should do. He took a couple seconds, and counted to ten. He tried to steady himself as best he could.

He inhaled deeply, before he grabbed the covers and pulled them off. Cameron was starting to object, but Jonathan ignored him. Before he could do much of anything, he was sliding in beside him. He pushed Cameron a little so he could fit, and he laid down by him, reaching out and wrapping his arms around his too-thin frame. He hugged him, holding him in his arms the way he always did when they were little. Cameron started crying harder. "Don't," he started to beg in broken sobs. They ripped Jonathan's heart apart, to have to hear. Tears stung at his eyes but he kept them at bay as he just held him tighter. "Don't— don't touch me, I'm gross…" he cried. "I'm gross, I'm disgusting, I'm horrible…"

Jonathan closed his eyes again. Took another deep breath. He just snuggled closer, pulling the blanket so it was around the both of them as he objected with a soft: "You're my brother."

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

He walked into the house and tried to go straight for his room. That was all he wanted.

He didn't get it.

He was already closing his eyes when he heard the strangled yell. He was already stopping in his tracks, because he knew there wasn't a point to keep walking. Sure enough, he felt hands on his arms. When he opened his eyes he found himself looking at his mom. She was crying, looking over all of him. Looking at his bruised cheek and split lip. At the rip in his hoodie. At the red irritations and bruises that lined his throat. She was crying and gasping, panicking just at the sight of it. "Cameron!" Oliver and Jonathan came rushed. His shame only grew when  _they_ saw, too. "Cameron, oh my God! What happened!? What happened to you!?"

"Nothing…" His voice was choked. His lips were already shaking.

"It isn't nothing! Oh, God, you're bleeding, you're— baby, what  _happened,_ who did this!?"

He tried to stay collected. He tried to stay together. But the more she cried and the more she held him, the more his lips were shaking and the more his expression was falling. He closed his eyes and felt something in his chest snap. He started crying. They all watched in horror as he started to sob. His voice was hoarse and it barely creaked out through his trachea. "I didn't have a choice…!" Emma whirled around to look at Oliver. Her stricken expression was matched by him perfectly. "I didn't have a choice, but there were so many I didn't wanna do it but I didn't have a choice! I had to!"

She hugged him. This time, he threw his arms around her, to cling back just as tightly.

He was quick to calm down, just because he was so exhausted. Emma got him to bed and cleaned the blood still on his face. He slept all night and he slept in late. They were ready to fight and put their foots down to keep him home that night, but to their shock he didn't even try to leave. He just stayed in bed. Jonathan took it upon himself to go and lay with him. He tried to get him to talk at first but he quickly realized there was no point. Cameron was silent, and his stare was apathetic. He just laid down by him and put his arm loosely around him, burning with questions and rage, at whoever had been the one to leave those bruises on his brother.

He didn't leave the next day, either. But he still didn't get up or even speak much. He just laid in Jonathan's arms, not even returning his hug, but just lingering in his grasp. A couple times he tried to get him to speak…none of his efforts paid off. He just resigned himself to fixing his hair or running his fingers through it, rubbing his back, speaking calmly and gently. He recited stories he knew from their childhood, that he always used to tell Cameron whenever he was sick or upset. He could see how sick he felt but still, Cameron never even tried to move. He was just…there. Staring blankly. Like he was unfeeling.

Oliver and Emma came in, and Oliver told Cameron about the place they'd been looking at…how it was expensive, but they were ironing out the treatments he could take from them. They told him about how they were wanting him to get better. How they wanted their Cam back, and no amount of money would be too much just to get that. Emma cried while Oliver said this, but Cameron never even blinked. He said nothing…he didn't even react. He was numb to it.

When they left reluctantly, to give him space they assumed he wanted, Jonathan hugged him closer and kissed his forehead. "Everything's gonna be fine from now on, Cam," he promised. "I swear. From here on out it's all going to be better." He said nothing, still. Jonathan weakened when he tried: "I love you…"

But Cameron was still mute. Still unresponsive. Still a shell of his former self.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Jonathan woke up slowly. He was about to roll over and just go back to sleep, when he realized that there was more space on the bed than there had been before. He opened his eyes again and sat up, and sure enough he realized Cameron was gone. He looked around the room, a frown coming over his face. He saw the suitcase Oliver had pulled out for his brother, and the clothes that had been neatly packed inside. They were leaving in the morning, to take Cameron to the new rehabilitation center. He looked at the clock and frowned when he saw it was almost four. He rubbed his eyes and got out of bed. He went out in the half and looked around.

He wasn't in the bathroom. He wasn't in the kitchen, either, or the living room. Jonathan called out a few times, but he didn't get a response. The longer it took and the more failed attempts he gathered, the more on-edge Jonathan was becoming. His eyes were narrowing, that sense of anger was coming back little by little but ever steady. He was skipping out— he was  _skipping out_ of therapy,  _again._ He ran away before they could take him someplace else, he was probably out with friends, he was probably getting high again. He was avoiding this just like he was avoiding everything else in his entire life!

He thought he looked everywhere before he realized there was still the basement. It wasn't much, down there; it was still mostly unfinished. Oliver had his pool table down there, and they were in the process of trying to make a computer room on the other side. It was on its  _way_ to be something, but for right now it was mostly unpacked boxes and stored stuff that still had yet to find a home even though they'd lived here going on two years now. He went downstairs and flipped on the light. He had to narrow his eyes against the sudden glare, but he was quick to blink the pain away.

He surveyed the room from the steps, looking at both sides. There wasn't anything out of the ordinary, though. It was just boxes and messes. He turned, starting to rush back so he could wake up Oliver and tell him. They had to find Cameron— he  _had_ to get to rehab. He ran up the first couple of steps again, when a tiny noise got him freezing. He jerked, nearly tripping, he stopped so suddenly. He looked over his shoulder, hesitating on the top step. But there it was again. Another noise. So small, but  _there._  It sounded like…a cough.

He took a step back down. "…Cameron?"

There was silence for a couple seconds. Before there was another, stronger cough.

He walked  _another couple_ down. "Cameron, is that you?"

He heard the cough again, louder. A  _lot_ louder. And then there was another one. And another one.

Jonathan's eyes went huge as he heard Cameron start coughing louder and faster. It wasn't just coughing, either— it was  _gagging._ Something was  _wrong._ Before he could even think he was taking the steps two at a time, throwing himself downstairs and towards the sound. He realized it was coming from behind a wall of unpacked boxes. Without thinking, or even caring about what was in them, he grabbed the boxes and started shoving them aside as hard as he could. He flung them any which way he could, his heartbeat loud in his ears as he heard Cameron continue to cough and splutter. It sounded like he was suffocating.

He threw everything aside enough to stumble into the hiding place he realized Cameron had created for himself. He'd gone to lengths to keep himself hidden. The second he saw him Jonathan was paling, and a horrified scream was ripping itself out of his throat. His little brother was on the ground on his back. He was pale as a ghost. The ground was  _littered_  with syringes. Without even counting, Jonathan knew there were at least five. But he didn't have time to stop and count— his eyes were stuck on Cameron. He was still coughing and choking, much weaker now. He was laying on his back. Vomit was pooled in his mouth and dripping down the side of his face. He couldn't move enough to get sick properly. It was suffocating him.

He was choking!

Jonathan flew down to him, grabbing him by the shoulder and yanking him towards him. He didn't even care that the vomit got on him. He was just gasping and crying as he watched his little brother twitch feebly. It was like he was too exhausted to actually get sick; it looked like he wanted to choke it all out but mostly it just all leaked onto the floor. Jonathan tried to help by hitting his back. His breath was still catching, it looked like he was still struggling. His lips were horrible pale. His eyes were closed and even when Jonathan started screaming his name over and over again, he didn't react.  _"Cameron!"_ he screeched, sobbing and crying as he tried to shake him. Nothing. He looked at the sheer number of syringes littering the ground, and started crying even more.  _"Cameron! Cameron what did you_ do!?

" _Mom! Dad! Mom!"_ It was no use— they were already sprinting out of bed and down the stairs. Already running to their son but horrified by the sight of him holding Cameron on his side, and the mess of drugs and vomit on the ground. But still, he kept screaming, even when they rushed for him.  _"Mom! Dad! Mom! Dad!"_ As if he knew that their help wouldn't be enough, and he was just hoping someone  _else_ might come to the rescue. Someone that would actually be able to fix this.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Cameron woke up slowly. His head was fuzzy. He couldn't really feel anything. He felt numb but at the same time he felt like he weighed a million pounds. His eyelids alone felt like they weighed about a hundred each, with every slow blink. He thought he could hear talking in the distance…but it might have just been his imagination. He had to piece together where he was and what was going on. It all came in minimal doses, every couple of seconds. He realized the bed, first…then he felt the pillow behind his head. He heard the maybe-talking, far away. He heard a beeping noise, steady and irritating. He saw the ceiling. A couple seconds after, he felt something light on his arm. His eyes flickered down and he realized it was a tiny, slim tube. A kind of tube he recognized…it was an IV.

His eyes dragged over to the right. He could barely make out what he thought had to be a curtained window. He looked back front. He waited about ten more seconds before he could drag his eyes to the left, and he found himself looking at something even more familiar. His brother. He was fuzzy and unfocused at first, but with every blink he was getting clearer. The colors became less of smears and fell into place. Eventually he could make him out clearly. He looked exhausted. Like he hadn't slept in days. He was staring at him in silence that was almost mournful. A lifetime of regret existed in his blue eyes.

He spoke before Cameron could find the means, or the courage, to. "Six syringes…the doctors said there was so much alcohol in your system, you shouldn't have even bothered. It was dangerous enough as it was." His voice scraped out like his throat was made of sandpaper. Cameron said nothing. His eyes were welling up with tears, though. Jonathan's were quickly following.  _"…Why?"_  he croaked eventually. Cameron closed his eyes, tears marking down his face. "Cameron, why did you do it? We were going to get you  _help,_ we were gonna—"

"Nothing helps…" Cameron's voice could barely be heard. "Nothing has ever helped, nothing will…"

"Because you don't give it a  _chance_ ," he pressed desperately. He scooted closer. "Cameron, we're gonna get you back into rehab— you're gonna get clean, and you're gonna get better. And we're gonna make sure you don't feel alone, we're gonna help you through it, and we're not going to let you down again. We're going to do our jobs.  _I'm_ gonna do my job, as your big brother." He cringed, saying nothing. Jonathan struggled on when he stayed silent. "We're going to get you better. We're going to get you back to the way you were, and everything's—"

"I don't  _want it!"_ he cried. Jonathan's eyes widened. "I don't  _want it!_ It won't do any good! I'll  _never_ be any good! Not to anyone else!" Years of being outcasted and shunned shook his voice. Jonathan could barely breathe at the loneliness he heard there. "Everyone will  _always_ see me as…no matter what I do! No matter what happens! I'll be  _stuck!"_ he sobbed. His voice was still fuzzy and slurred with groggy sleep. But he meant what he was saying, a hundred percent. Jonathan could tell. "I'll never be  _anything!_ No matter what I do, no matter how hard I work! It won't matter! So why do it!?"

Jonathan felt number the more he yelled. His face fell more and more. "What's the use!? What's the  _use,_ if I can't be anything else? I'll always be… _me!"_ His voice cracked and shattered into pieces. Tears were rushing down his face but he wasn't wiping any away. There was no point to that, either. He stared up at the ceiling, looking tortured and lost. Like he had nowhere to go. "I tried to tell you when I was fourteen, and now I tried to tell you  _again,_ but you  _still_ don't get it! I hate myself!" He closed his eyes tightly. "I hate myself, I don't want to be me anymore!" he sobbed. He still sounded so weak, and yet still, Jonathan was punched by his words. "I can't be me anymore, I don't want to be me anymore…"

Jonathan said nothing. He just stared at him despairingly.

Cameron kept crying. He kept crying until his throat hurt too much. Until he was too exhausted to keep on. He let his head fall to his brother to see that he was still staring at him. He wasn't even blinking. His sorrow was unfathomable, but there was also something else in his stare. Cameron sniffed, not knowing what else to say. He knew there wasn't anything. He knew he was stuck. That they both were. He started to feel that anger he'd felt when he was fourteen, and he'd realized his attempt to escape all of this hadn't worked… _again._ When Jonathan suddenly spoke. His voice was soft but it still caught him off-guard. Not only by the sudden tone he was using, but the words themselves as he stared at him intently.

He wasn't sure he understood, when Jonathan spoke. Not at first.

But the realization came slow as his brother looked at him. Steady, and earnest.

As he murmured under his breath, like it was a secret just between the two of them:

"Maybe you don't have to be."


End file.
